


Words Can Wait

by loveindirtytrenchcoats



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Farm/Ranch, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - World War II, Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Bottom Castiel, Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge 2015, Depressing Lack of Sam Winchester, Discussion of Dean/Cas/Benny, Farmer Castiel, Fluff, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, M/M, Mentions of Blood/Injury, Mentions of Violence, Minor Character Death, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pining, Sexual Content, Skinny Dipping, Smoking, Soldier Dean, Some Glorification of War, Summer Romance, Top Dean, Very Brief Meg/Castiel (Reasons Explained), World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-06
Updated: 2015-10-06
Packaged: 2018-04-25 03:57:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 58,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4945837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveindirtytrenchcoats/pseuds/loveindirtytrenchcoats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the drowsy summer of 1942, three years into a War that has devastated most of the world, a sleepy farming village in Britain stands mostly untouched. Local farmhand Castiel Novak never believed he would win in love. Then the American soldiers arrive, with their smooth accents and rough manners, each one more charming than the last. Dean Winchester never believed he'd love at all.</p><p>Sometimes, circumstance and chance bring people together, and the first page of a long story is turned. But as every story must have a beginning, every story must also have an ending - and, sometimes, the two are closer than we realise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Completed for the [Dean Cas Big Bang challenge 2015](http://deancasbigbang.livejournal.com). Art by the incredible and talented [miss_melissa17](http://miss-melissa17.livejournal.com). I cannot express how patient and wonderful Mel’s been to collaborate with, and her work is just astounding – I keep looking at it and tearing up! Thank you, thank you, thank you, for absolutely everything. [Art Masterpost Here!](http://miss-melissa17.livejournal.com/4330.html)
> 
> With thanks to my darling beta, Joy (forever-mermaid), for being supportive, kind, and endlessly serene. Many all-around thanks to Susanna (vieroksuja), for constant suggestions and assistance when my brain goes fuzzy, and to others: Jess, for her excitement; Vash, Elena and “I just bent a spoon” Alice, for their encouragement; and to S.M., L.B. and "stop coming up with new AUs" C.U., as always. Your souls make mine glow!
> 
> I am English myself, and we learn a lot about WW2 in school. A lot. So I hope that, for some, there will be some things to learn from this fic! Rationing, evacuation, U.S. soldiers... they all really happened. 
> 
> Finally, [here's the playlist to the fic](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL4IVOvJkhzWnhpicrTiebhy9XgDf8bCez), if you'd like to look at what kind of thing I was listening to while writing, or if you'd like to get a grasp of the atmosphere. So! Without further ado...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for: Smoking, Alcohol

_ _

 

_~*~_

 

  _J_ _uly 1942_

_Devon, Great Britain_

The man stood alone at the edge of the small, hazy hall, tapping his finger on his glass along with the steady tempo of the music, his booted foot crossed over his shin as he leant against the wall. A young woman approached, her hips swaying, leaning close to his freckled face and smiling seductively. He smiled back, full of charm, but only seconds later the girl was walking away with a drag in her step.

He looked over the room filled with people, their bodies moving in time with the quick beats, and spotted a familiar, smiling face watching as a familiar, red-haired woman was spun around by a man he didn’t recognise.

The freckled man started weaving his way through the crowd, being careful not to get kicked in the face by jiving feet, making sure the man he was watching didn’t see him as he approached. _God_ , he was even more beautiful up close- just as he’d remembered. The edges of his eyes crinkled as he laughed, his blue eyes almost black in the dark hall, but his smile lit up the place all by itself.

Taking a deep breath and pushing down the fluttering in his stomach, he slid into the chair next to the man.

“You were staring at me.”

 

~*~

_Two days earlier_

The early morning sun spread its warm hand over the dew-dropped fields, its gentle yellow rays sinking into the damp coolness of the house. In the light blue-walled kitchen, a young woman with messily tied red hair filled a vase with water, arranging a bunch of small sunflowers to place on the wooden dining table. Sat in one of the chairs was another, younger woman, with similarly bright auburn hair, slicing a loaf of bread.

The front door to the house opened and a man- older than the two women- stomped through the hall and into the kitchen, his arms filled with chopped logs, a newspaper balanced precariously on top of them.

“Morning Anna, Charlie,” he said, voice strained from the exertion of carrying firewood all the way from the store out back.

“Morning Balthazar,” the older woman- Anna- greeted back, drying her hands on her faded floral apron.

Another female figure with dark hair and loosely tied overalls appeared from the next room, grabbing the newspaper and sitting herself on the kitchen table to open it and begin to read.

“Margaret, I _just_ cleaned the table!” Anna scolded, walking over and attempting to shoo the younger woman into a seat. “Get down!”

She hummed, feigning consideration of moving, then licked her finger and turned the page. “Maybe if you stop calling me that, I would consid-“

“Meg, _sit_.” Balthazar ordered, quirking his eyebrow as he came back into the kitchen from dumping the logs, walking to the sink to wash his hands clean of the dirt and splinters.

Meg rolled her eyes, sliding into the seat next to Charlie. “I’m not a dog, you know,” she muttered, burying her nose in the paper again.

“Are Hannah and Alfie up yet?” Balthazar asked, picking up three slices of bread and placing them under the grill, Charlie following him with several more.

“They’re collecting the eggs,” Anna replied, unwrapping something tied up with brown paper. “Balth, can you set the fire?”

“Mhm, was just about to.”

“Charlie, the table please.”

“Yes Anna,” Charlie sighed, pulling down cutlery and plates from a cabinet on the side of the room. “Any news, Meg?”

“Nope,” Meg said, popping her lips on the ‘p’ and continuing to read.

As Anna began to place a few rashers of bacon into a sizzling pan, two children appeared from the back door that went out to the garden. One was a brown-haired, blue-eyed, ten-year-old girl, and the other a fair-haired, stumbling four-year-old boy. The girl, Hannah, carried a basket full of brown eggs, some with fluffy feathers still on them, and the boy, Alfie, cradled a single one in his little hands.

“Are we having bacon?” the boy asked, running over to the stove, trying to look at what Anna was doing.

“Yes, Alf, as we do every week,” Anna said, smiling as she batted his fingers away from the risk of burning himself on the flames under the pan. “Hannah, can you box up the eggs after breakfast? Alfie, _hands_.”

“Can I have a whole one to myself this time?” Alfie asked as he reached up to run his hands under the tap. “I think I’m big enough now.”

“You’re big enough for sure, but you know we don’t have enough to spare and us grown-ups need to have some too.” Anna placed her hand on his head, then took the egg he’d washed and broke it into the pan, too. “Go sit down. Where’s Ca- speak of the devil.”

A young man walked into the kitchen, engrossed in a book, and sat down at the table. He had messy dark brown hair and bright blue eyes, and wore a rumpled white shirt and green trousers with braces looped over his shoulders, looking as if he’d crawled into bed the previous night in the same clothes.

“Castiel, will you stop reading that book- _again_ \- and help me with breakfast?” Anna asked, slightly irritably.

Castiel huffed out a deep breath, then closed his book and set it in front of the young girl two seats over from him, patting her on the head and earning himself a scowl from her as he passed. He helped the slightly older woman plate their meagre breakfasts, pouring out milk for the two children.

“Morning Cassie!” Balthazar beamed as he came back in, placing down a few boxes for packing the eggs the children had collected.

“Hello Balthazar,” Castiel replied, handing Anna her plate and serving the others.

“Sleep well?”

“Mostly, except when Alfie knocked on my door at 3am.” Castiel sat down and rubbed the boy’s back, who looked slightly sheepish at the mention of his night time activity.

“Another bad dream?” Anna asked, smiling sympathetically.

Alfie nodded, then continued to eat. The woman winked at Castiel when Alfie wasn’t looking, mouthing a “ _thank you_ ”, and the twenty-one-year old smiled softly in response.

They all sat and ate breakfast, the bright sun shining through the two windows on the back-facing wall, Castiel keeping Alfie in his seat when he started squirming around.

“Balth-“ the little boy prodded, then swallowed his food after gaining a stern look for speaking with his mouth full. “Balth, when are we going to see the soldiers?”

“Oh god- the yanks’re coming down today, aren’t they? I forgot.” Meg chimed, her face lighting up with a predatory smile.

“Sometime in the afternoon, we’re not really sure,” Anna lowered her voice to a comical whisper, “top secret business and all that.” Alfie wrinkled his nose in thought. “I’ll make a cake for them in a bit”

“I’ll help!” Hannah offered, eyes alight.

“The whole village is buzzing,” Balthazar said. “They’re putting up decorations and the shops are all getting ready to add their base to the provisions lists.”

“It’s lucky we have harvest coming up,” Castiel added, nodding thoughtfully. “Maybe we could ask some of them to help in the fields.”

“You girls are going to have a great time- think of all those men in uniform, just waiting to sweep you off your feet, dance the jitterbug, the jive…” Balthazar paused, collecting up the plates, and continued in a whisper, “…the horizontal tango-“

“ _Balthazar_! Don’t be filthy!” Anna scolded, a blush high on her cheeks.

Meg and Charlie stifled laughter, and Hannah looked mildly disgusted from where she sat neatly cutting her final bits of egg.

“I wonder what they’re all like,” Charlie questioned. “I bet they’re nothing like our Tommies. You know I heard they have _comic books_ and all sorts of fancy stuff from America, they bring gifts over and give them to village children and their sweethearts.”

“Before you ask, if I get a comic I’m _not_ giving it to you, Charlie.” Hannah shook her head, getting down from the table and taking an apple from a small bowl of fruits, chewing it as she left the room with Castiel’s book in hand.

“ _I want those eggs boxed in ten minutes!_ ” Balthazar called, watching the small figure disappear through the doorway. “Alfie, you up to helping Cassie and Meg down at the shops?”

“Yep. I had bacon!” Alfie pulled a gummy smile. The kid had been convinced that bacon gave you super-strength since he’d first been able to eat it, and was always more willing to help when he’d had a good breakfast.

“Cas, you're milking this morning?”

“Yes,” Castiel replied, pulling on his boots. “Alfie, you can play until we’re ready to go.”

The boy looked elated, and ran off at full speed out of the kitchen.

“Charlie, fruit duty. Meg, help me do the rounds.” Balthazar began rolling up his sleeves, and the women started getting ready to work too.

 

Alfie spent the morning sat in the garden, amongst the bright plants and small birds that came hopping around, studying the bees as they flew from flower to flower and generally enjoying himself in the growing heat of the sun. Charlie managed to collect from almost half the apple trees, Castiel got all the cows milked, Meg and Balthazar checked, fed and moved around all the animals, Hannah boxed the eggs, then baked a cake with Anna using all the ingredients they had to spare. By mid-morning, all their jobs were complete and- already tired and aching- they packed up their cart and headed down to the village.

Alfie needed more socks, one of the few pairs he had left having worn all the way down- Castiel didn’t think he could darn them over and over anymore. After he’d helped them unload most of their produce to the appropriate shops, he and Alfie wandered down the street and into the clothes shop. Alfie picked out navy woollen socks, and Castiel pulled out the money he needed to pay for them as well as one clothing coupon. It was always nerve-wracking, using another coupon- adults were given sixty a year, and children only ten more than that to account for growth spurts, so handing over even that much of their measly ration felt like chopping off a limb.

Seeing the child so excited was worth it, though- Castiel wondered how desperate times had become that a four-year old was elated at getting new socks. Alfie held them tight to his chest as they left the shop, and that’s when the voices started shouting, further down the main road. People began emerging from their homes, chattering eagerly, constantly checking to see if anything was headed towards them. Muffled cheering echoed from some distance away, and soon enough the street was filled with people noisily bustling around. A group of women fussed over their clothes, biting nervously on their lips, adjusting their tired summer hats. A grumpy man was dragged out of his house by his bouncy wife, and a gaggle of children ran out into the road.

Alfie got the same idea, attempting to drop Castiel’s hand to join his friends, but the man held tight.

“Let’s find a better spot,” Cas said, picking up the little boy and balancing him on his hip. “Now you’re so tall, you have to keep an eye out for me.”

They made their way through the crowd, Castiel occasionally bouncing Alfie up and down to tease giggles out of him, and managed to get to the front of the gathering of what appeared to be almost the entire population of the village.

“Cas! Cas, it’s the soldiers!” Alfie said, pointing a sticky finger forward.

Sure enough, when Castiel turned his head, he saw jeeps filled with supplies slowly trundling up the battered road, others carrying men- though many of the soldiers marched by foot behind the vehicles. Cheers erupted from the crowds, and Castiel held tight to the boy squirming in his arms, who was probably desperate to run right up to them. The Americans passed smiles around to everyone, and they looked bright and new and _clean_ , unlike the local boys that had been fighting for three years now. As useful as they were being for the cause, Castiel couldn’t help the twinge of spite that tightened in his stomach- they came over to Europe, all cocky attitude and confidence, believing they were rescuing all the poor British people who’d failed by themselves; or at least, so he had heard. Looking on them now, it wasn’t hard to believe.

As one platoon passed by, one soldier’s eye was caught by a figure that didn’t clap or shout like the people surrounding him, and instead stared levelly at the men, a child sat on his hip.

Castiel noticed the man coming closer, and watched as he waved a mock salute at Alfie. Their gazes met, eyes locked on each other, and the soldier looked over his shoulder, almost walking backwards so he could keep staring as his platoon moved on. The moment extended for a seemingly endless length of time, and Castiel felt his heart pound in his chest.

A wide smile broke out across the soldier’s face and he winked at Castiel, before turning to watch where he was going.

Castiel was too lost in the moment to hear Alfie screeching in his ear.

“Cas, _Castiel_! He waved at me, he _waved_ at me!” Alfie shouted as another jeep passed, slapping Castiel’s chest with one small hand and one pair of socks.

“It’s called a salute, Alf,” Castiel said. “They only do that for other soldiers, you know.”

Alfie’s face lit up like Christmas had come early, even though the applause was dying down now that all the soldiers had gone past. The horde was still alive with gossip, everyone chattering about the new troops, and the sun raged its midday heat down on all of them.

“Castiel, Alfie!” A voice called from behind them; weaving through the people was Charlie, and Castiel walked to meet her. “Did you see them, little one?”

“One of them _saluted_ at me, Charlie,” Alfie said, fingers gripping Castiel’s shirt.

“One of them saluted you?” Charlie corrected gently, an excited grin on her face. “Well look at you, all grown up. _And_ you’ve got new socks- at least someone’s having a party this week!”

“Speaking of parties,” a new voice said, belonging to a young woman with sandy blonde hair and a red gingham dress who stepped up to them with a smile. “Are you all coming to the dance?”

“Hello Muriel,” Castiel greeted.

“When is it?” Charlie asked, putting her hands in her pockets.

“Day after tomorrow, 8pm at the village hall- we’re giving the troops a day to settle in,” Muriel explained, then turned to stare pointedly at Cas. “Yes, Castiel, I do expect you to be there. And-“

“Don’t ask me to dance,” the man muttered under his breath, shutting his eyes.

“And I _will_ be expecting you to dance. No backing out,” Muriel glared at him, and Charlie huffed a laugh. “We don’t know how long they’re going to be here, so you’ve got to enjoy it while you can- dances galore!”

Muriel was a land girl like Meg and Charlie, who’d been put to work on one of the other four surrounding farms. She’d struck up a tentative friendship with everyone on Balthazar’s farm except Castiel a couple of years ago when they’d arrived, and always seemed- for some reason- to be holding a grudge against the young man. One day of having to work together for a harvest and her hesitation and distrust melted away- ever since, they’d been growing closer and closer each time they met.

“I can’t dance, Muriel, you know this,” Castiel objected, but he already knew it was futile.

“Oh, come on, we all know that’s not true. You just don’t _try_ ,” Charlie teased.

“I’ve seen Cas dance,” Alfie said, completely out of the blue.

There was a stunned silence for a moment, all of their heads turning to the boy.

“When did you see Cas dance, Alfie?” Charlie asked.

“I saw Anna teaching him in the living room when I was supposed to be having a nap,” Alfie shied away from the intense attention he was receiving.

Muriel crossed her arms and looked at him with one eyebrow raised. “Is that so?”

Castiel’s eyes widened and he looked down at his feet.

“Well, now you certainly _will_ be coming and you _will_ be dancing, even if I have to drag you out there,” Muriel said firmly, then turned on her heels and walked away, her tea dress swinging around her legs. “See you there!”

 

Castiel did not like parties.

Parties meant dancing in front of people and communicating with them.

Castiel did not like either of those things.

The girls had all spent an hour getting ready- putting on their best dresses, any make up they had, and trying desperately to cover up ladders in their stockings. Hannah- of all people- had managed to convince him to put on a halfway decent outfit; he wore a plain white shirt, not tarnished from days working in the fields, and black dress pants that were just a little too small for him. Balthazar whistled when he saw them, saying something vulgar about Castiel’s ass and likening him to a horse of some kind, then came over and began messing with his dark hair.

“Balthazar, you know you can’t get it to stay down,” Castiel said, trying to swat the man’s hands away, remembering several occasions they’d attempted to style his hair and utterly failed.

“That’s why I’m not trying to,” Balthazar replied, lips pursed in concentration. “There.”

Castiel went to the mirror, looking at himself- Balthazar had made his hair stick up in about fifty different directions, but in a way that people wouldn’t think he was scruffy or unkempt. It looked… strangely good.

“See?” Balthazar grinned, patting Castiel’s shoulder a little harder than necessary. “Now it looks like you spent the whole night moving some furniture around.”

Castiel rolled his eyes, adjusting the collar of his shirt, then decided to add a simple blue tie to his outfit. He smiled at himself in the mirror, and headed downstairs. Meg was sprawled sideways across an armchair in the living room, stocking-covered legs hanging over an armrest, while the rest of the household continued frantically getting ready above them. She lifted her head and looked at Castiel as he walked in, then raised one eyebrow and smiled brightly.

“Well look at _you_ , handsome” she crooned, slowly stretching her arms out by her sides to rest on the back of the seat, making her chest stick out. “Give me the three-sixty, go on.”

Castiel turned around to show her all of him, awkwardly shrugging as she looked him up and down like he was a model for her to admire.

“You know, you’re a damn pretty piece of man-flesh when you clean up,” Meg said as she stood from the chair, her deep purple dress falling into its natural position as she walked closer, laying her hand over Castiel’s heart.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Castiel said, utterly deadpan.

“The girls’ll be falling all over you,” Meg winked, looking very pleased with herself.

Castiel frowned. “Meg…” He was interrupted before he could finish.

“All right, everyone ready?” Balthazar called from the hallway, and Meg brushed past Castiel on her way out, slapping him on the ass as she went.

They dropped Hannah and Alfie off at a friend’s house for the night- the couple they left them with had five children of their own to look after already, so hadn’t been planning on going to the dance anyway.

The village hall was already teeming with people when they arrived, half an hour late, soldiers and villagers alike spilling out across the lawns around the back.

The blackout curfew would be starting soon, as it was finally growing dark, and Castiel could see a few men and women fixing curtains to the inside of the doors that would have to stay closed unless someone was entering or leaving. The windows were all already covered with blackout blinds, as were the rest of the houses in the town. Many people found it intensely irritating- no bombs were being dropped on the countryside, hence why the children had been sent to them, so having to blackout every night was tiring and seemingly a waste of time for most.

The heavy drums of a big band song thumped from inside the building, but it wasn’t fast or energised- as the five of them went inside, they saw a few couples swaying around the room, slow-dancing, but apart from them most people were busy chatting with the charming Americans. They certainly seemed to have captured many of the village girls’ attention, rag-tag groups of them crowding around the GIs, who were definitely enjoying the attention.

The small group took a glass of water each from a table at the side of the room, and watched as others started trickling in, expecting the lively music to start soon. It wasn’t long before the room was full. It was dim- not so much that they couldn’t see, but just enough to set the mood and stop any light leaks from being glaringly obvious from outside. By the entrance was a raised stage with low banisters, tables and chairs set on it for the people resting and chatting to sit at, where they could watch the dancing below them. A Union Jack was hung on the wall next to a US flag. There were chairs positioned all around the room except on the main dance floor, which itself could fit a reasonably large number of people inside it, especially considering it was only a village hall.

It was the kind of place that people fell in love in- not glamorous, not impressive, but filled with the atmosphere of budding relationships and glowing, last-night-on-earth romances.

Many of the soldiers came inside in groups, looking the place up and down, eyeing women from the vantage point they had at the entrance. Slowly but surely, people began to mix, and Castiel realised that while he’d been staring aimlessly around, everyone but Anna had left his side. She was fiddling nervously with her navy dress, and Castiel had the feeling that she wasn’t up to dancing right away. He led them over to a couple of seats on the side of the room, just as the music started and couples ran onto the dancefloor, legs and arms flying everywhere. Castiel and Anna clapped along and watched the men in their green uniforms lift and spin women in their short dresses, laughing all the way.

“I have to congratulate you, Anna.”

They both turned to see Muriel coming towards them, wearing a lilac dress that hugged her figure, her rolled, curled hair pulled back with a neat ribbon.

“On what?” Anna asked, almost shouting to be heard over the music, a bemused expression on her face.

“Getting Castiel here,” Muriel laughed, and Castiel let out a fond sigh and a smile. “Now we just have to persuade him to dance.”

“Give me a little while, at _least_ \- to settle in,” Castiel offered lamely, but the woman seemed pleased enough that he was implying he would join in later.

Muriel went off with a laugh when one of the soldiers came up behind her, shyly asking her for a dance. Castiel sat and watched the couples waltz or jive around the room, depending on the song, listening to the occasional shout that bounced off the walls with an accent that was foreign to him.

A few dances in, when the room had begun to grow hazy with cigarette smoke and sticky with the heat of people’s bodies, Anna turned to Castiel.

“There’s a yank,” Anna said, leaning close as if to avoid being overhead.

“There are many of them, Anna,” Castiel replied, knowing he was being pedantic.

Anna scowled. “No, there’s one _looking_ at me.” She rolled her eyes to indicate over her left shoulder. “On the stage.”

Castiel began leaning out to see, but Anna grabbed him back before he could glance up.

“Don’t be so obvious!” A blush spread on her cheeks, and she wrung her hands together nervously. “Is he handsome? I couldn’t look for long.”

Castiel scanned over the crowds, trying to make it seem like he was casually looking around in case the man caught his eye. Anna was right- over her left shoulder, Castiel could see a young soldier hunched over to lean on the banister of the stage, arms crossed and a glass in hand. His short, sandy-coloured hair was parted neatly at the side, and a knowing smile lifted one corner of his lips.

It was the man that had stared and winked at Castiel two days before.

“Well? Do you see him?”

Castiel hadn’t realised he’d been staring into the man’s eyes until Anna spoke. He didn’t look away, and the soldier didn’t stop smiling. “Yes.”

Anna leaned her head closer to him, prodding for more information. “ _And_?”

“Yes,” Castiel said, squinting suspiciously at the man, biting down on a smile. “Yes, definitely handsome.”

_And he certainly knows how to hold someone’s gaze._

“Not your type, though,” Castiel added, something guarded building up inside him. Not to mention, if his suspicions were right, Anna had been mistaken when thinking the soldier was staring at _her_ , and- if so- he _really_ wasn’t her type.

“Oh.” Anna slouched, but didn’t look too bothered. She hadn’t exactly come to look for romance, like many of the girls had. “Well.”

The American gave Cas a little wave, just raising two fingers, and Castiel finally broke their stare to look at the woman next to him.

“And anyway, yanks are no good- they’ll fornicate with you, then leave forever,” Castiel added, grinning into his glass.

“Cas!” Anna slapped his thigh, laughter bubbling from her lips. “Honestly, how I live in a house with such vulgar people is beyond me.”

When Anna was preoccupied with watching the dancers again, Castiel glanced back to the stage, but the man was gone.

An hour later, after being dragged into one dance (and one dance _only_ ) with Anna, who was then whisked away by a different man in uniform, Castiel found himself alone at the side of the room again. He loosened his tie, undoing the top button of his shirt, and listened to the beat begin for a new song. He laughed at Anna being swung around and up and down, and didn’t notice the figure making a beeline for him.

“You were staring at me,” a voice said, deep, rough, and accented, making Castiel jump.

He turned to the seat next to him, eyes wide and shocked, as the American sat down and released a lungful of air.

“No I wasn’t,” Castiel countered, managing somehow to get his tongue to climb out of his throat.

The soldier turned his head, looking from Castiel’s chest to his lips, finally settling on his eyes- and Castiel couldn’t help it if his mouth dropped open just a _little_.

“Yes, you were.”

Castiel gaped at the man’s freckled, tanned face, studying his hooded green eyes for what felt like forever before he managed to sit back and look away.

“No, _you_ were staring at _me_ ,” Castiel said, crossing his arms. “Which, I’ll have you know, led to a misunderstanding with- and disappointment for- my sister.”

“Yeah, I saw,” the American grinned like he knew exactly what he’d been doing. “But still. You were staring at me.”

Castiel clenched his jaw. “Only because you were staring at me. I was merely… returning the greeting.”

“Oh, so you admit it? You _were_ staring at me?”

Castiel looked at the man again, eyeing the uniform and broad hands clasped around his glass, and bit down on his tongue.

“Are you done?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

The soldier mulled it over for a moment, then pursed his lips and nodded several times. “Yeeaah, I’m done.” 

They looked at each other for a few moments longer, then lapsed into a surprisingly comfortable silence. Castiel continued to steal glances at the man beside him, trying to work out if he was being genuine, and found that the other was doing the same to him. It felt like helium filled Castiel’s lungs, trying to lift him up to the ceiling, and he felt heat climb into his cheeks.

“They’re playing the [_One O'Clock Jump_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iBDMTT_GVeU), but it ain’t even one o’clock yet,” the man said, shaking his head in false disappointment.

“I don’t know about you yanks,” Castiel said the word with distaste. “But we don’t exactly have specific times of day set for certain pieces of music.” He straightened his back, looking straight ahead.

“I wasn’t being serious, you know,” the soldier replied.

Castiel gave him a look that said he _obviously_ knew that he was joking, but would never admit to it. “How would I know? From what I’ve heard, all of you are _weird_.” He rolled his shoulders in an exaggerated shrug.

“Seriously?” the man laughed, taking a sip of his water. “ _We’re_ weird? Think how we felt coming here.”

“I can’t imagine it’s much worse than how we felt when you arrived,” Castiel said, completely poker-faced. “Which was awful, by the way.”

“So _that’s_ why you weren’t clapping and cheering,” the man said, undoing his top button, distracting Castiel for a moment.

Castiel snorted. “In case you didn’t notice, I had an armful of four-year-old.”

“See, I’d thought it was because you were otherwise occupied with my ruggedly good looks,” the soldier beamed, and Castiel stared levelly at him, attempting to pretend there wasn’t a flush climbing up his neck and a tightness in his chest.

“Oh come on, you must have been at least a _little_ excited to meet us,” the soldier quipped, nudging Castiel with his elbow.

“You think I _like_ having you all here?” Cas said, quirking an eyebrow.

The man considered him for a moment.

“Hostile,” he squinted, smirking. “I like it.”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

There was a pause, where the man seemed to be fighting some internal battle.

“Dean Winchester,” he said, putting out his right hand.

“Castiel.” He replied, and stared at the hand outstretched to him. “Novak.”

After a moment, Dean dipped his head down to catch Castiel’s eye. “Castiel. Hand.”

“Right.” Castiel said, reaching out and shaking the man’s calloused hand. “Yes, my apologies.”

For a moment, the big band that played on in the background silenced, and every other soldier and villager in the room was suddenly completely and utterly forgotten. Dean and Cas stared in each other’s eyes, saying nothing, lips slightly parted, waiting for something to happen.

Dean unexpectedly found it harder to breathe. He mapped the face of the man next to him, noting sharp cheekbones and the shadow of stubble, following the flick of a pink tongue to wet plush, chapped lips.

They let go of each other’s hands, realising they’d been holding them for too long now, and Dean raised his arm to rub at his neck nervously, a red flush on his cheeks. Castiel found it unendingly endearing, especially after the macho bravado the man had shown when they’d first spoken.

“So,” Castiel began, suddenly nervous. “Are you staying for long?”

“I don’t know,” Dean admitted, expression falling a little as he looked down. “We’ve got a couple of weeks at least, but anytime from then we could be given posts. We’re waiting for the word from those up high.”

“Must be frightening,” Cas nodded, swallowing more water.

“Nah,” Dean said. “It’ll be fine.”

Castiel could see the lie for what it was, but didn’t say anything.

“What about you?” Dean asked. “What do you do?”

“I’m a farmer,” Cas replied. “Farmhand- whichever you choose. I live on a small one about five miles up the road.”

“With your sister?” Dean pointed his chin at Anna, who was breathless and still dancing.

“Yes, but she’s not exactly my sister,” Cas replied, smiling fondly at her. “None of them are- we’re all from separate families.”

“Orphan?” Dean asked, then flinched. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine,” Cas said. “And, yes, orphan. Not all of us, though.”

“Who else lives there?” Dean questioned, just as he had to duck out of the way of a heeled shoe that managed to brush against his military jacket. “Whoa, lady, learn where to put your feet!” Dean frowned, looking down at his coat and wiping off invisible dirt with his hand.

Castiel laughed, and Dean continued to pout at his uniform.

“There’s me and Anna,” Cas began, then searched the room for a head of short, blond hair. “Balthazar, who’s technically the owner of the land, Meg, Charlie, and the two children, Hannah and Samandriel.”

Dean’s eyebrows furrowed. “Samandi-what?”

“That’s why we call him Alfie,” Cas said. “He was very happy you saluted him, by the way. He wouldn’t stop going on about it until last night.”

Dean’s mouth stretched into a lazy, content smile. “Happy to be of service.”

They both took sips of their drinks, looking back out to the crowd of dancers for a long moment.

“You know,” Dean started again, swallowing his drink. “I did farm work back at home.”

“And where _is_ home for you?” Cas asked, listening as the song changed again.

“Kansas,” Dean said, evidently remembering the place he’d left behind, a distance settling behind his eyes as he ran his fingers up and down his glass. “Though we move around a lot. Worked on cars, too. Just odd jobs here and there. Sometimes bars.”

“I grew up here,” Castiel admitted, putting his empty glass under his chair. “I’ve only left the town a few times. I can’t imagine what it must be like to be so far from home.”

Dean nodded, agreeing. “Wish I could see more of England, while I’m here. But hey, enough of the doom and gloom.”

Castiel tilted his head to the side, an inquisitive look on his face.

Dean started tapping his feet along with the music, shuffling slightly closer to Castiel when an exhausted couple collapsed in the chairs next him. Their thighs touched, but neither of them pulled away- Cas could feel the heat of Dean’s skin, and his stomach fluttered. When the couple behind Dean started kissing each other sloppily and noisily, Dean made a disgusted face and leant even closer into Castiel’s space.

Castiel laughed, again, and found he was doing that more in Dean’s presence than he had in anyone else’s for a while. Dean watched Castiel’s face scrunch up a little, and even though the expression wasn’t huge, he could feel the joy that was beaming off him in waves.

Muriel appeared out of nowhere with another girl by her side, who had brown hair and wore a tight black dress.

“Hey Cas, care to introduce your friend?” Muriel asked, smiling widely, face bright from the exertion of dancing.

“This is Dean,” Castiel gestured at him and watched the other girl eye the soldier. “Dean, this is Muriel and Bela.”

The music ended, and there was a long pause before the next began. When it did, the buzz in the room grew even stronger- half the dance floor whooped as the lone drumbeat pulsed. Muriel’s face lit up like Christmas had come early.

“ _Come on, Cas!_ ” she shouted, grabbing his hand and pulling him into the crowd. “ _You owe me!_ ”

 

 

Castiel looked back to see Bela leading Dean, too, and something dropped in his gut. He went back to paying attention to Muriel, and let the thump of [_Sing, Sing, Sing_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fhyhP_5VfKM) take over his movements and flow through his body.

Everyone started jiving wildly, throwing themselves into the dance with all they had; spectators clapped and cheered from the stage and side-lines, some wolf whistles echoing around the room. Cas let himself be pulled around by Muriel, but it wasn’t long before he was smiling and doing the work himself. He lifted her up, and moved back and forth and around constantly, making sure that nobody close by accidentally hit them or got hit by them.

Castiel looked around the crowd while he danced, spotting Dean a little way away from him, moving his feet rhythmically and holding Bela’s waist and hands. Castiel couldn’t help the thoughts that ran through his head, and swallowed when he saw how gorgeous Dean looked when he danced- his green jacket tossed somewhere to the sides, face lit up from the exercise- and then turned back to Muriel.

A little way into the music, when the brass cut out to leave the drums, the crowd split to create a circle just big enough for a couple inside to pull off every trick in the book they knew. A soldier and a woman Cas recognised- Adina- took to the floor, looking as if they’d danced together a hundred times. They pressed their bodies close, and everyone around them clapped and yelled praise, bobbing along with their flips and spins. A few other couples went next, one pair including Meg, before Castiel found himself being wrenched forward hard enough to almost pull his arm from its socket. He tried to resist and draw back, but Muriel was strong as hell- and she knew it.

They moved with ease, kicking their legs out, throwing their arms up, and Castiel knew he’d be getting praise later for the talent he’d never let anyone see. When he bent down and flipped Muriel over his head, throwing her up in the air from between his legs, the audience roared and chanted their names, and kept doing so as he tossed her around his side and back, over his head and to the floor, then back to moving their feet.

As the phrase finished, they linked arms back to back, and Muriel flipped Cas backwards over her, spinning him under her arm into a celebratory pose. They kept dancing as they ran off, and as Castiel gasped for breath, people all around him slapping him on the back, he saw Dean staring at him and clapping. Castiel kept an eye on the soldier, and caught his mischievous smile seconds before he and Bela ran out into the limelight.

Cas saw the way Dean’s muscles moved through his thin shirt, and gaped at the way the American let go of all the tension in his body, moving Bela close and pushing her away over and over again. They pulled a few similar moves to Muriel and Cas, flipping and twisting around each other, and Castiel stood, hypnotised. Dean leapfrogged over Bela and lay on the floor in one slick movement, then Bela planted her hands on his bent knees and threw herself over him, legs flying up and her skirt lifting above her undershorts. The crowd exploded with excitement and Castiel whistled, entranced by the broad smile that Dean projected onto everyone, and wondered if it was just him that saw the brilliant glow of the man just a few metres away.

As their final move, Bela knelt down, and Dean spun on one foot over and over again, holding his other leg out straight over her head as he did, completing the bar with so many spins on the spot that Castiel couldn’t even count how many he’d done.

After their turn, everyone spread out again, filling the space to dance by themselves for the last couple of minutes. Castiel let go of his inhibitions completely, laughing when Muriel did, rocking his hips and shaking his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist, slipping in fancy footwork, letting her take control; anything they could squeeze in.

The last few drumbeats passed, the band played its crescendo, and everyone took up final positions. The spectators screamed and hollered when the music stopped, and Muriel hauled Castiel into a giddy hug.

“Shit, Cas- I never knew you could dance like that!” Muriel jumped up and down, squeezing his hands.

“Neither did I!” Cas shouted as the next song started.

“My turn, hotshot,” drawled Meg as she snatched Castiel out of Muriel’s arms, but she looked worn out anyway so didn’t protest. “You’re a bloody grandstand, and you know it.”

“Thank you, Meg,” Castiel smiled, and as they began to dance again- less frantically this time- he caught the green-eyed gaze of the man downing a glass of water on the other side of the room. They grinned at each other, and went back to what they were doing.

Several dances later, it was past midnight and the pace of the music had slowed; couples swayed to the gentle rhythms and the small hall was sticky with the memories of the night’s labours, smoky breath, and sweaty skin.

Charlie had picked Cas up for the more relaxed dances, and Anna snatched Dean, wanting to ‘check’ to make sure that he really wasn’t interested. They rocked to the music, heads on each other’s shoulders, and both Dean and Castiel realised that the matching position meant they could stare at each other without being noticed by their partners. They spent a few dances just gazing into each other’s eyes with barely any interruption, Cas imagining what it would be like to be able to dance this way with Dean, unaware that Dean was thinking the same thing.

A few more soft melodies filled the stuffy room before something more upbeat started again, for those who’d rested and recovered enough to keep swinging. Along with the latecomers, they created an impressive spectacle- there were only a few less people than had been there earlier at the height of the evening. Castiel saw Dean talking and laughing with other soldiers, obviously friends of his and probably in his platoon. Cas lost track of Anna and the others, barely having seen Balthazar the entire night, and had watched Charlie step outside a few minutes previously with a pretty girl whose brown hair had been neatly plaited.

Dean leant forward to say something in another American’s ear, patting him on the arm before moving towards the door. Castiel’s heart thumped, suddenly afraid that he was leaving without a word, but Dean stopped and turned his head. His green eyes met Cas’s through the haze of smoke, then he left without another word or gesture.

Castiel found his feet moving beneath him, taking him mindlessly to the entrance, something magnetic and instinctual driving him out through the doors and into the warm night. He shivered, suddenly realising just how sweltering and thick the air inside the hall had been, stumbling blindly down the steps and onto the soft lawn. He heard a whistle behind him, and spun around, spotting the familiar outline of Dean’s body leaning against the wall around the side of the building. It was pitch black, absolutely no light coming from within, only the muffled music and cheering of dancers spilling into the night.

As Dean walked towards him, Castiel could just make out the smoke swirling up from a cigarette and wished he could see the lips it was held between. He wrapped his arms around himself, suddenly nervous in the quiet, private environment where he was alone with a man he couldn’t have even dreamed about being _near_ before. As his eyes adjusted, Castiel could see that Dean’s military jacket was undone and loose around him, the night of dancing ruining his neat, clean-cut appearance from earlier.

“Hey stranger,” Dean said, taking another few dregs from his smoke before crushing it into the grass.

“Hello,” Castiel replied, rooted to the spot.

Without warning, Dean’s head shot to the side, eyes growing wide, before he forcefully dragged Castiel by his shirt down the side of the building- out of sight- and pressed him flat against the wall.

Cas’s heart raced, and he watched a man and woman burst from the hall and onto the road, completely wrapped up in each other and laughing all the way.

Neither Dean nor Cas moved, trying to stay unnoticed.

When the couple was far enough away that their voices only echoed down the street, Castiel felt Dean release a heavy breath. It was only then that they both noticed how close they were- Dean’s hand was flat on Castiel’s chest, holding him against the brick at his back, and their faces were so close that Castiel could feel Dean’s warm breath across his cheeks.

Dean was the first to break, flinching back as if only just realising they were close enough to-

“Sorry, I- uh,” Dean stuttered, looking at his feet. “Didn’t want us to- be seen, you know, doing…”

Castiel blinked and had to heave in a breath past the lump in his throat. “Doing what?”

Dean waved his hand vaguely at Castiel. “Nothing, it’s…” He swallowed, then pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “I need a goddamn drink.”

Without another word, Dean turned and strode off around the back of the village hall.

Cas breathed in through his nose, closed his eyes, and knocked his head back against the wall. As he breathed out, he looked up at the scattered stars flickering on inky blackness, and saw the galaxies that dusted a man’s cheeks and nose.

“He’s going to break my heart, isn’t he?”

Castiel couldn’t help his smile, one that made his face ache for the hundredth time that evening, then pushed himself off the wall. He could see Dean crouched down near a bush in the garden, and stepped up behind him.

“What are you doing?” Cas asked, trying to see what Dean was digging around for.

Dean made a noise of triumph, and wrenched out a bottle of something from behind a branch. “You think I came to a party without booze? Getting sauced is the best part.”

“Where did you even get that?”

“America,” Dean said.

“You brought it all that way?” Cas asked, stunned.

Dean shrugged. “I heard you guys don’t have much of the stuff. And I didn’t know if I’d like whatever you drink, even if I could get my hands on some.”

He pushed himself up from his knees, unscrewing the bottle lid and taking a swig before pushing it towards Cas, who swallowed a draught with no complaint and handed it back. They both looked at each other for a little too long, but kept their slight distance.

“You said you wanted to see England, correct?” Castiel asked, out of the blue.

“Uh… Yeah?” Dean’s eyebrows furrowed. “Yeah, it’d be nice. But I don’t have time.”

Castiel bobbed his head in a long nod. “Then let’s make time.”

“What?”

“You want to see England,” Cas explained, and Dean wasn’t sure if he was joking, looking at his flat expression. “So I’ll show you.”

Cas paced back to the street at the front, Dean following silently behind him, and started walking along the cracking concrete, the road winding on and on into the distance. They marched through the silence and darkness, following the country road for a mile without a word being passed between them. It was eerily quiet out in the open, but there was something peaceful about it.

“Where are we going, Cas?” Dean finally asked, jogging for a moment to walk by Castiel’s side.

“To see England,” Cas answered, flicking his eyes down to the bottle in Dean’s hand.

“Thanks, Mr Cryptic,” Dean said, taking another drink. He gave the bottle to Cas, hissing a little from the taste he held for too long in his mouth. Cas threw his head back, gulping shamelessly from the bottle this time.

“ _God_ , I haven’t had a proper drink in years,” Castiel breathed, swallowing another mouthful. “Except at Christmas.”

Dean watched him, still moving, so far out from the dance hall that he felt lost already.

“Then you’re damn lucky I’m a nice guy,” Dean said, slapping Cas on the back and causing him to splutter and cough. “That stuff’s gotta last me the rest of this round trip, if I can’t get more.”

When Cas finished choking, face red and bright, he scowled at Dean and gave him his drink back. A while later, they came to a crossroads where the concrete split off into dirt paths made for tractors and horses, leading out into the hundreds of fields that bordered them and beyond. Only the pale wash of the moonlight helped them see where they were going, and Dean followed without a fear or worry as Cas took him down progressively muddier and smaller lanes.

“We’re not too far from the farm,” Castiel announced, stopping for a moment. “But don’t worry, we’re not going there.”

Castiel trudged on forward, towards an old wooden fence, and waved behind him for Dean to follow. He climbed deftly over it, swinging one leg then the other, and held out his hand. Dean stood, shocked, for a long moment, before stepping and taking the man’s work-hardened hand to guide him over the rickety stile. Castiel helped Dean over the fence, and in a moment of confidence placed his hand on Dean’s lower back as he settled his feet on the ground again.

Dean could feel Cas’s body heat through his shirt, Castiel having pushed his palm up behind Dean’s jacket so there was only a layer of fabric separating them. Castiel was firm and muscled, and perhaps Dean hadn’t really realised that the man would be so strong.

_Of course he would be, he’s a farmer._

The hot skin was gone again much too soon, and Dean was left with a cooling imprint on his spine. Looking forward, he tried to make out anything through the thickness of the night, but could only see the borders of the field they were in.

Castiel trudged on, though, crossing diagonally through the land and leading Dean through crops that had grown to their waists. The level of the ground changed, but Dean didn’t notice it until he was panting for breath at the top of a steep incline, looking down at the distance they’d travelled.

“That’s the village hall.” Castiel smiled, pointing somewhere back where they came from.

“I can’t see shit, Cas,” Dean said, swallowing the thirsty lump in his throat.

Cas laughed, and waited while Dean tried to focus and find the building. “Neither can I.”

Dean turned his head. “You shit!”

Castiel laughed again, a sound that burst open from his mouth without warning.

Dean lunged forward, trying to catch Castiel by the arm and… do _something_ , but the man was too quick and darted out of the way. Almost tripping up the whole way down the other side of the hill, Dean chased Cas further and further through the dewy grass until they were on flat land again, gasping for breath.

After resting his hands on his knees and just breathing for a minute, Dean took another drink, feeling the tingle spread into his limbs. “You’re a dick.”

Castiel rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, then swiped for the whiskey to have some himself. Dean protested with a short “ _hey_!” but didn’t try to get his precious goods back.

“Come on,” Castiel swallowed, tossing the bottle back. “It’s not much further.”

Dean followed, again, having to restrain himself from grabbing the warm hand he could see swinging by Castiel’s hip as he walked. He tried to distract himself.

“C’mon Cas, where are you taking me?”

“It’s a surprise,” Castiel said, still looking straight ahead.

The land sloped downwards now, and a faint hush of sound drifted closer with every step they took. Castiel seemed to be looking for a specific route to their mysterious destination, but even in the dark he knew his way, and Dean guessed that he’d been here many times before. The English countryside was much quieter than America at night, barely any cicadas chirping and no animals to be seen as they continued over several more fences and fields.

Castiel ducked under a thick branch of an old and twisted tree, almost a metre wide, and Dean joined him, managing to get his cheek slapped by a twig that sprung out in his way. They came out on the other side to a completely different scene, and Dean stopped in his tracks.

Groups of trees lined the open space, their limbs reaching far enough over Dean and Cas’s heads to shield them from the elements while keeping the expansive sky in easy view. Under the silver-leafed branches, down a short sloping bank, was a small and slow-moving river. Their feet sunk ever so slightly into the sandy earth, a small beach stretching out in front of them to the water’s edge- the river had swelled, widening until it could almost be called a small lake if not for the movement they could see on the surface. The water was dark and inky, glistening almost ethereally in the moonlight, and the sound of it trickling over rocks gently lulled them in the atmosphere of the night.

Dean breathed out, an elated smile lighting him up, and Cas watched the hard lines melt away from his face. He looked up and around, his curious eyes absorbing the almost-magical setting they found themselves in.

“You like it, then?” Cas asked, tilting his head to the side.

Dean snapped back from the dreamy daze he’d been in, staring in Castiel’s eyes.

“Yeah- yeah, _God_ , it’s beautiful, Cas.”

Dean wasn’t looking at the scenery as he said it.

His eyes flicked down to Cas’s lips, and he licked his own without realising it.

Fuelled by the confident buzz of alcohol in his veins, Cas broke the long moment by turning back to face the water, grabbing the knot of his tie and undoing it with his deft fingers. He hurried to get it off, then quickly started removing his shoes and socks, in a rush to finish whatever he was doing.

Dean’s eyes widened when Cas unbuttoned the whole front of his shirt, revealing the tanned and smooth skin of his chest and stomach.

“Cas…?” Dean paused, looking around as if they’d be spotted, his hands moving uselessly in front of him. “What are you doing?”

“We didn’t come all this way just to admire the view, Dean,” Cas explained as he slid his arms out of his sleeves.

Dean followed the movement of lean muscles under Cas’s skin, staring at his broad shoulders and the lines of his chest, over the curve of his waist and the jut of his hips. Without looking away, Dean started shedding his own clothes as quickly as he could, tossing them in a heap to the sand behind him.

Castiel looked up too, skimming over the slight softness of Dean’s tummy and the heavy, strong set of his shoulders and arms.

By the time Cas was in just his underwear, Dean had nearly caught up, standing with his uniform pants still on. Castiel smiled, pulling down his last garment in one swift movement, kicking them off his toes and turning to sprint towards the water. Dean watched him run off, trying not to look at his bare ass and failing miserably.

The splash created when Cas dived into the water without hesitation broke the still calmness in the air, and Dean shook his head and took a deep breath before getting completely naked too. Castiel’s mop of wet hair broke the surface of the pool and he trod water, laughing as he watched Dean running to the shore while holding his junk in one hand.

Cas could see the exact moment Dean realised he’d made a mistake running straight into the river, the horror flashing across his face briefly before he was underwater too.

His head bobbed up a few seconds later, a loud gasp escaping his mouth as he flailed around in the water, Cas calmly swimming closer to him.

“Jesus fucking _Christ_ , it’s fucking cold!” Dean shouted loudly, teeth chattering.

“ _Shhh_!” Cas laughed, looking at the goose bumps spreading across Dean’s skin.

“What the shit!” Dean kept shouting, gasping frantically and splashing around. “Is there fucking _ice_ down there or something?! _Fuck_!”

“Calm down, Dean,” Castiel came closer again, trying to at least pretend he was covering up his grin.

Dean shivered and flopped around again, splashing Castiel in the face by accident.

“ _Dean_!”

“All _right_ , sorry!” Dean whispered, attempting to stop wriggling around. “But seriously, what in the-“

“You’re not used to England and its temperatures, I get it, now be quiet and concentrate on not drowning,” Cas instructed, reaching a hand out.

Dean took the offer, wrapping his hand around Cas’s wrist, pulling him closer- but not so much that they were touching any more than that. He focused on treading water, trying to ignore the thrill that ran through him at the feeling of Cas’s slippery skin against his. They both floated for a while until Dean’s shivering stopped and he adjusted to the temperature of the water, and a calm settled over them.

Castiel coaxed Dean slowly out to the middle of the almost-lake, paddling them gently, the sound of the water trickling around their limbs filling the air. Once they were in the centre, where the moonlight touched their skin, they stopped moving. They held each other’s wrists tightly, barely a couple of feet away from each other, the water that dripped from their hair making their faces shimmer. Cas stared at Dean’s skin bathed in the pale moonlight, watching the water ripples reflecting in white ribbons on his face, and Dean did the same. The blueish-white tint to it made it seem like something was glowing beneath their skin, shining from the inside out.

Dean’s eyes were dark, his irises barely showing, and they lured Castiel in like a siren call.

They moved a little closer, Castiel sliding his warm hands up to Dean’s elbows. Dean’s breath caught, and Castiel’s eyes followed every feature of his face, focusing on his mouth and the open ‘o’ shape it created. Dean almost stopped paddling, unable to think of anything but the man in front of him whose azure eyes lit up, transforming into otherworldly blue shards of ice in the dreamy light. Castiel looked like a creature out of a fairy tale, surreal and beautiful- Dean almost believed that he was an illusion, and if he let go, Cas would disappear.

Dean licked his lips. “I’m- I’m good now, I think.”

Castiel could almost feel the moment snap, like something physical between them had been cut from inside him.

“Oh,” he said, loosening his vice-like grip on Dean’s arms. “Yes. Apologies.”

“It’s okay,” Dean said, trying to find his balance by himself. A single, violent shiver wracked his body, and he began swimming in small circles to get rid of whatever sensation was swirling in his gut.

The weak current tugged at Castiel’s feet, and he let himself be carried by it, taken further downstream. He swam against it when he reached the edge of the clearing, seeing Dean glide through the water with a grace and elegance he’d lacked only a few minutes before. The lines of his toned body cut the water like a knife as he swam, and the dips and valleys of his spine rose and fell above and below the surface again and again; Cas thought that a merman’s tail would suit him well. It was one of the most beautiful things Cas had ever seen.

He swam back around the edges of the small pool where the water grew shallower, and over to a place where a large rock formed a wall behind his back. After getting used to the feeling of swimming again, Dean turned on the spot and saw Castiel resting against the smooth black rock, hidden in shadow. He joined the other man, them both staying quiet as they looked up and around, listening to the soft rustle of the leaves swaying in the breeze above their heads. A drop fell from the stone ledge, making a ‘plink’ noise as it hit the surface.

“I’d take you to Tinside Lido, if I could,” Castiel said, looking at his outstretched legs that rippled under the water.

“What is it?” Dean asked, watching a drop grow fat and heavy before trickling from the end of Cas’s nose.

“An outdoor swimming pool, in Plymouth,” Cas explained. “They built it in ’35, and it’s right on the seafront. I’ve only been there once.”

Dean hummed quietly. “Sounds nice.”

Castiel smiled. “Maybe you’ll see it if you get shipped off from Plymouth.”

Slowly and absentmindedly, Cas reached up as if in a daze, placing his palm on the back of Dean’s neck.

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, lips parting as he looked at the other man smiling, feeling Cas’s warmth on his skin. “Maybe.”

Cas twisted a couple of fingers into the base of Dean’s hair, looking out across the water and holding still but for the gentle circling of his fingertips. The fog cleared from his eyes a moment later and his head turned towards Dean, eyes widening when he noticed Dean staring.

Cas slid away only a moment later, drawing back as if realising what he had done, and quickly gestured for Dean to stay where he was.

Cas swam to the centre of the pool again, took a long breath, and disappeared beneath the surface. Dean watched the spot where he’d gone down, waiting for long, tense seconds for the head of dark hair to emerge. The silence grew unnerving and just as Dean was about to go and investigate, Cas surfaced, breathing heavily. As he returned, Dean noticed the slightly uncomfortable way he held one arm as he swam.

Castiel opened his clasped hands when he was at Dean’s side again, revealing several different pebbles and stones that he’d collected from the lake floor.

There was a crimson, rough-edged rock, a pure white, smooth pebble, and a piece of thick, worn-down, blue bottle glass. Cas handed them over to Dean as if they were delicate, breakable things, cradling the underside of Dean’s hand as he dropped them in his palm.

“People say that lumps of gold could be found here, a long time ago, and they brought the settlers here prosperity and luck,” Castiel said faintly, tracing the three shapes with his finger. “People dive down, still searching, always looking for the wealth that was once here. Some say the water is blessed.”

Dean stared at Castiel’s face as he spoke, at the soft crinkles at the edges of his eyes, the kind upturn of his lips.

“They’re for you, Dean.” Cas folded Dean’s fingers over them, holding his hand between both his own. “A gift, from me.”

Dean nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. He lifted his hand to his chest, laying his fist over his heart, guiding Castiel’s hands there too. They stayed another moment, then Dean reached up and placed the stones and glass on the riverbank, just out of reach from where they were.

Cas felt Dean’s legs knock into his under the water, his ankles hooking and dragging for a second before sliding out of contact. When Dean began splashing around, a wicked grin on his face, Cas climbed out and clambered onto the rock face. Dean watched him from below, oblivious or uncaring to his nudity, and Cas backed up. He launched himself off the ledge, tucking his knees to his chest in mid-air, and hit the water with a loud, painful slap.

Dean was laughing when Castiel came back up, bubbles surrounding him, the otherwise almost-perfect level of the water destroyed by ripples and small waves- Dean shook his head like a wet dog and headed towards Cas with serious intent written all over his face. Cas barely had time to register the hand clamping down on his knee before he was underwater again, ducked down into the darkness below by a strong hand. Dean didn’t hold him for long, but enough that Cas squirmed in his grip.

They continued their childish water fight for an indeterminable amount of time, never straying too far from each other. The river continued to lazily churn around them, gurgling over the rocks and dips a little further downstream.

When they finally clambered out, skin wrinkled and bumpy, the dance at the village hall had long since finished.

The moon faded from view and plunged the clearing into darkness, but not long after, trickles of pale orange and pink began to seep through the netting of tree branches and bright green leaves. The whole night had passed without them realising.

“Shit,” Dean breathed, still paddling.

Cas just nodded. “We should get out.”

Dean held the stones and glass tightly in his palm, shivering as he waded out of the cold water and into the warming but still-cool air of morning. He watched Cas stumble over to his discarded clothes, picking up each item that had been carelessly tossed around, bits of sand and small stones stuck to the soles of his bare feet.

Dean’s eyes followed the drops of water as they trailed down Cas’s muscular back, then down over his ass and thick thighs. Dean’s teeth chattered, and he wished he could blame the speed of his heart on the cold.

Cas looked up, listening carefully as the first trills of birdsong echoed from some distance away. His face was soft, open, and Dean wanted to kiss him.

“You’re staring at me,” Cas said, without looking away from the sky.

Dean felt the red flush shoot up into his cheeks. “No I-“

“Don’t even try it,” Cas said, shooting a smug smile at him. “And close your mouth. It’s very unbecoming.”

A full-body shudder ran from Dean’s chest outwards. He walked towards a lump of dark fabric that looked like it could be his underwear next to his whiskey bottle, minding where he put his feet in case of any sharp stones below. He muttered under his breath, glancing every now and then at Cas pulling on his clothes.

By the time he was done, Cas looked like a mess. He didn’t bother putting on his socks or shoes yet, nor his tie, and left all the buttons of his white shirt undone. The slip of tanned skin Dean could see still made him feel airy, even though Cas had been completely nude only minutes before. Cas’s hair was still wet, verging on damp now, and his cheeks were rosy from the exertion of swimming in the cold water. Dean was half naked, still shaking.

Cas walked over, picking Dean’s trousers up from the ground and tossing them at his face. Even when he’d managed to get his shirt loosely on, Dean was still cold. He put his military jacket over his shoulders, rubbing his hands together and breathing into their cupped shape.

“We need to get back before anyone wakes up,” Cas said, peering back up at the pale sky.

The dawn chorus was in full swing- different sounds to the birds Dean heard in the USA- when they left the beautiful grove, turning back once to capture it in their minds. They didn’t climb the hill again, this time travelling alongside it.

Cas walked barefoot, his shoes hanging from his hand, admiring the beauty of the morning. He didn’t feel tired- something about Dean gave him energy, life, and he clung to it for as long as he could. Cas knew something was happening between them, an instant connection that fluttered happily beneath his ribs. Dean looked at him as if he couldn’t tear his eyes away, as if he wouldn’t dare blink in case Castiel melted into thin air. His green gaze lodged itself beneath Cas’s skin, the caress of his eyes speaking of a desire that was buried deep down. Cas wasn’t stupid. The night that had just passed was like something out of a dream- like one of the romance novels or films that Anna and Charlie always talked about.

Cas had never even imagined he could have something like it.

Dean walked by his side, always staying close, sometimes turning around to look back from where they’d come. He would tip his head back and stare at the swallows and swifts diving and swooping overhead, nature already beginning its day. The trees glistened in the early morning light, and as they walked on, the wide expanse of sky above them turned deeper and brighter with reds, pinks, and oranges.

They smiled at each other, and chatted briefly. Cas learnt more about Dean’s hometown, delighting in the way his face lit up when he talked about the things he loved. Sometimes a small flicker of wistfulness would shade his eyes, but he brushed it over with an easy smile. Cas knew something was hurting him, but didn’t prod further.

They hadn’t been walking for long when Cas reached into his pocket, almost physically flinching at the sight of his watch face.

“Oh God,” he whispered, hurriedly looping his tie around his neck but leaving it unknotted.

“What?” Dean asked, putting a hand on Cas’s shoulder and turning him slightly.

“Balthazar gets up in fifteen minutes.” Cas’s face blanched a little, and he glared in the direction they were headed.

“How far?” Dean asked, doing up the buttons of his shirt all the way.

“I can make it, if…” Cas paused, biting his lip.

Dean swept his hand out, making an ‘ _if what?_ ’ gesture.

“If we run.”

The words were barely out of his mouth when Dean, with a face-splitting smile, grabbed Cas’s hand and tugged him into the tall grass.

When he got over the initial shock, Cas couldn’t hold in the rupture of laughter that bloomed from inside of him. It came from a place right next to the pulsing warmth he felt when looking at or thinking of Dean, a feeling that evaded his grasp whenever he considered it too deeply.

They ran on and on, trying to stifle their laughter, never once letting go of each other’s hands- even when they had to jump over rickety fences at the edges of fields full of crops. Cas’s bare feet were filthy and sore, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

They could both barely breathe by the time they got to the road again.

“What’s…” Dean gasped, making a rolling sign with one hand. “Time.”

Cas realised they were still holding hands, and ducked his head when he pulled away, reluctant to lose Dean’s warm touch in the chilly morning air. He lifted his wrist and checked his watch, sighing in relief. The farm was just a couple of country roads away, all the fields that surrounded them belonging to the place.

“We made it,” Cas panted, swallowing heavily.

Dean grinned, the sunrise bathing his features in soft light. It was the first time Cas could really, properly look at him, and he was gorgeous.

“All right, now how in the hell do I get to camp before I get my ass whipped?” Dean asked.

Cas gave Dean directions, pointing his way towards the centre of town where he could probably meet with the stragglers from the party the night before without raising suspicion. They both understood without discussion that they would be lying to everyone about what they’d been doing- almost everything they did would have to be their secret.

Cas didn’t care. He’d lie to his family for the rest of his life if it meant he got more nights like the one he’d just had.

They stood there, on the edge of a deserted road, not far from a village of people that were beginning to stir with the new day. Neither of them wanted to leave. They wished they could stay in the fantasy they’d created, where they didn’t have to worry about the real world and its real people. They stood, staring in each other’s eyes for a long, long moment.

“I should…” Dean started, turning his body halfway to leaving. “I…”

Dean’s face tightened, and Cas knew there were a thousand things the American wanted to say but couldn’t, because Cas was having exactly the same problem.

“Thanks, Castiel,” Dean said, expression fond. “I mean it. I had a great night.”

Cas nodded, clutching at the edges of his creased and dirty shirt.

Dean turned away reluctantly, starting off down the road.

"You know, we've asked for an extra pair of hands on the farm,” Castiel said unexpectedly, shrinking slightly into himself when Dean stopped and turned around. “That is, put in a request with your leaders. For help. While you’re all here.”

“Is that so?” Dean said, smiling. “Maybe I’ll have to offer my services.”

Castiel’s mouth parted on a shaky inhale, and Dean pretended he didn’t see.

“Oh, and I never mentioned,” Dean continued, all charming smiles and magnetic charisma again, walking backwards. “You’re a great dancer. _Almost_ as good as me!”

Cas’s heart fluttered, and an ache grew in his chest the further Dean was away from him.

“We’d make a good pairing then!” Castiel raised his voice, almost- but not quite- regretting what had just come out of his mouth.

Dean smiled wider, almost disappearing over the edge of the small hill he was nearing.

“I’ll be sure to take you up on that someday!” Dean shouted, waving his arm high above his head, and turned away.

Before Cas could take another breath, he was gone.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you'd like to see some swing dancing (to the same song, no less) have a look [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YibBVIYwQWs); obviously, the village hall is a lot smaller and a lot darker, but you get the idea.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for: Meg/Cas (very brief, reasons explained)

 ~*~

 

_The seasons bring the flower again,_

_And bring the firstling to the flock;_

_And in the dusk of thee, the clock_

_Beats out the little lives of men._

_~_

II – In Memoriam A.H.H, Lord Alfred Tennyson

 

The reality of the situation Cas and Dean had gotten themselves into was harsher in the light of day.

Dean managed to get back to his camp without much comment- most of the other men presumed he’d had a night out with a woman from the village, so he got off lightly with only a few knowing smirks being sent his way.

For Castiel, it was a different story. For as long as everyone had known him, he’d never run off with anyone, so the matter of his night out was a hotly contested topic at the breakfast table.

“What was her name, Cas?”

“Was she from the village, or one of the ones who came from the city?”

“Is she pretty?”

“Are you bringing her back here?”

Alfie was mostly just confused, but old enough to understand that the matter of Castiel’s new _friend_ was extremely important. He watched the young man get increasingly more frustrated.

Cas ate his breakfast calmly, but the involuntary twitch of his eyebrow and clenching of his jaw gave away his growing anger.

“I want to meet your new friend, Cassie.” Alfie blurted out, then proceeded to shove a huge chunk of apple into his mouth, the juice running down his chin.

Everyone else looked at Cas haughtily, waiting for his answer.

“Well,” Cas began coolly, standing up with his plate. “I don’t have a new friend, so you won’t be meeting them any time soon.”

Several groans came from the occupants of the table, all exasperated from the lack of gossip Cas was providing. Charlie had joined in, but Cas could see the slightly guilty flush to her cheeks- evidently she’d been off somewhere too, but nobody had clocked on to it. Meg spent the whole of breakfast calmly staring at Castiel from across the table, a wide smile never leaving her face. Castiel scowled at her suggestive looks, and rolled his eyes when she made sarcastic comments about his “lovely new _lady_ ”.

Thankfully, they had a relaxed day ahead- most of the village was resting after the dance, so the farm work was slow-going.

Castiel spent the morning cleaning out the cow sheds and chicken coops, and couldn’t stop thinking about the previous night. Memories of Dean constantly flickered over his mind, and he found himself smiling dopily as he worked. Flashes of freckles and warm touches interrupted him often, and he could almost feel the way Dean pressed against him, his reverent touch and smiling eyes.

Cas understood that what they had couldn’t be- not for long, anyway. Dean would leave in a matter of weeks, off to fight somewhere he may never return from, or just go back home to America when he was done. It was a long, long way away.

Cas thought of those strange shores he’d only ever read about, and dreamed of New York, and realised he had a thousand more things he wanted to talk to Dean about. He wanted to learn, desperately, everything there was to know about the man he’d spent the night with, the mysterious enigma that wrapped himself in virility and bitter cigarettes and whiskey, but who lived truly in tender caresses and pink cheeks and lingering stares.

Cas didn’t care that he could- and would- lose it all so easily.

He just _wanted_. More than he had ever wanted anything or anyone before.

By midday he was almost asleep on his feet. He found Alfie bordering on overheating in the small flower garden, a few toys spread around him, and brought him inside. With the help of a cool cloth, it didn’t take long for the little boy to grow drowsy, and Castiel smiled as he helped him pull off his new socks.

“Cas?”

“Yes Alf?”

“I want to see the soldiers again,” he said, rubbing his chubby fist against his bare chest.

“Maybe you can soon,” Castiel replied, kissing him on the head and picking him up.

“How soon?” Alfie asked quietly, laying his cheek on Cas’s shoulder as they walked out of the house and towards Cas’s outhouse.

Castiel hummed. “Very soon, I’d say. In fact, one of them may come and help out on the farm.”

“Oh,” Alfie said, barely awake. Cas looked down at the tiny hand that clutched his shirt, and saw Alfie’s long eyelashes flit closed. “I’d like that.”

Cas opened the old wooden door of the grey-stone building and climbed the stairs to his converted room, in what used to be a barn before the previous owners had realised the sizing wasn’t right for any of the animals they had.

His room was on a platform that had been walled in, up some wooden steps, and had several large windows at the back from which he could look out over their land. Downstairs there was a sink, their bathtub, another bed in a cordoned off space, and some tools and utility items for both housekeeping and looking after the land. It wasn’t huge, but it was spacious enough, and Castiel enjoyed the peace of being by himself.

He could still hear the children squealing and the adults shouting in the mornings, though.

Gently lying Alfie down on the bed, Cas sat down, took off his shoes, and curled around the little lump next to him who was already breathing heavy and steadily. With a warmth inside his chest that threatened to burst out of him with sheer joy, Castiel drifted into a peaceful sleep, dreaming of being held in loving arms.

 

~*~

 

Castiel got up from bed earlier than usual the next day, wrapping a woollen shawl around his shoulders and walking a little way up the valley of the farm, looking out over the east, where trickles of pale sunlight washed the morning sky in soft yellow and blue. He knew that if he climbed to the top of the hill and looked west, he might be able to see the encampment where the soldiers were currently living. Many of them were being assigned their places to work and live for the weeks they had off today, and Castiel felt the hum of nervousness under his skin- they could end up with anyone.

He watched the morning unfold, watched the world come to life in such beautifully simple ways- a gentle breeze, a rabbit dashing across a field, one of their cockerels screeching in the near distance.

There was a certain time of morning, in certain places, that held the air of romance. Castiel knew that this was one of them. Something soft and hazy filled the short hour of sunrise, something pulled up from the dirt by the heat of summer, like cleaned jewels and wisps of steam. The fields and rolling hills stretched out like a reaching arm into the distance- nature always trying to grab the blinding globe of the sun in its glowing fingers, but its palm would fade and dissolve like a mirage and hide away beneath the horizon until sunset.

Halfway through his day, Castiel would sometimes find himself wondering if the sunrises he watched were truly real. There was something about the time of day that held him in suspension, up on that hill, where he felt that the whole earth was still and timeless, and he was rooted deep in the soil and grass beneath his feet. Whenever he watched the first light slip the night seamlessly into day, a silence and tranquility blossomed all around him. In those brief, fleeting moments, Castiel could almost understand the whisper of the wind and the sigh of the trees, and when he looked out on the rich land beneath him he knew what it was to fly.

How he wished to fly.

After an immeasurable amount of time passed, the morning would erupt into sound and colour, and suddenly the fragile, ethereal bridging period between night and day would be over, and the land would return to its resolute ephemerality.

Castiel released the breath he’d unconsciously been holding, and let his blue eyes wander over the green of the countryside, before allowing his feet to take him back down to his little home.

Halfway there, he saw a figure moving quickly towards him. It was Anna, who tightly held her skirt up in one hand so she could skip over crops and not tarnish her white dress, and her own shawl over her shoulders in her other hand, fist clasped over her chest. Her auburn hair bounced and shone in the sunlight as she jogged, a bright contrast with the slightly rocky and earthy emeralds surrounding her, and he quickened his pace to meet her.

“Anna?” he called, close enough to see it was her. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” she shouted, happily bounding towards him. “We’ve got a soldier, Cas!”

They finally met, Anna breathless and Castiel feeling his heart jump a little in his chest, and he clasped her hand in his.

“I tell you, you’re going to get ill again,” Anna scolded after feeling the chill of his fingers.

Cas appreciated the concern, but was more intrigued to know about the soldier. “Who is it?”

“No idea,” Anna said, beginning to walk them back to the house, and Cas felt the cord of tension in him tighten. “But he’s coming in three hours, and we’ve got to get everything ready by then and there’s…”

She trailed off, apparently thinking of all the things they had to do in preparation to welcome their new hand. Castiel listened to his sister’s soft mutters as they hiked down the hill.

Back in the house, everyone was half awake but still managing to frantically clean, cook and tidy. Balthazar shouted something about how Castiel should “stop being a bloody dreamer and help around the house in the mornings more”, but he paid it no mind while he set to work on taking off the children’s sheets and washing them.

Hannah ran to collect the eggs as she did every morning, dropping one on the way (and earning herself a sad pout from Alfie), Anna made a small breakfast, Charlie scrubbed the kitchen floor, Balthazar fed the animals, and Meg generally made a nuisance of herself.

“Think you’ll be riding this one too, hotshot?” Meg conspired, leaning close to Cas’s face while he washed his hands.

Castiel, utterly unfazed by her endless teasing, continued to scrub at his hands.

“I have no idea what you’re implying. Why would I try to use a yank as a method of transport?”

Meg snorted next to him, and Cas dried his hands in proud silence.

By the time an hour had passed and it was nine o’clock, Anna was fussing over how they all looked- mostly dirty, a bit sweaty, and very tired, but they couldn’t do much about it.

They waited anxiously for half an hour before the sound of tyres on beaten earth roads came closer and drifted away again, a few muffled voices and laughs echoing towards them. Balthazar looked surprisingly nervous, the children buzzed with excitement, and Cas felt that flutter touch his heart again. He wanted to get up and stare out the window, watch the man march towards the house, but he was rooted to the spot and knew Anna would have shoved him back into his seat even if he _could_ move.

Four knocks on the door came, and a dead silence settled over the occupants of the house, then a slightly frenzied Anna went out into the hallway, and answered. Castiel could hear a low mutter from the soldier and a nervous but thrilled laugh from his sister, and then they were in the doorway.

Dean’s hand held the strap of his pack, slung over one shoulder, and his other hand gripped the hat and dented metal helmet he’d obviously taken off at the door, judging by the state of his hair. He and Castiel’s eyes met, and then Cas was lost.

“I’m Dean,” he introduced himself, smiling at everyone in the room. “Dean Winchester.”

Balthazar stood, shaking Dean’s hand before slapping his shoulder, hard. “Welcome to the bunch, Dean!”

Dean’s gaze drifted automatically to Cas, who looked utterly shell-shocked. A woman of around their age was sat next to him- the third girl who Cas had danced with at the hall- smirking knowingly at him.

“Heya Dean-o!” Meg grinned, slapping Cas on the back so hard that he started choking. She rubbed circles into his shirt, soothing him mockingly slowly. “Atta boy.”

Dean lifted his hand to give a nervous wave, and reluctantly dragged his eyes away from Cas when Anna began pointing out everyone else in the room.

“Balthazar owns the land here, ever since our boys went off to fight,” Anna said, and Balthazar returned a nod. “This is-“

“Charlie.” she jumped up, coming forwards and slapping Dean’s arm in the same place Balthazar had. “Brains of the operation, if you will.”

Dean’s face twisted slightly in amused confusion and he tilted his head a little to the side.

“That’s Meg,” Anna continued, pointing to the woman next to Cas, who raised her eyebrows at Dean in greeting.

“And who’s this?” Dean asked, leaning down slightly so he was closer in height to the girl he was addressing.

“Hannah,” she spat, surprisingly snide for someone of her age, and Dean was taken slightly aback.

“All right,” Dean said. “Hannah it is.”

She continued to scowl, but the attention was taken by the boy that clung to Hannah’s dress, timidly flicking his eyes up at Dean and back to the floor again.

“I think I recognise this one,” Dean said, and sank down on one knee to stick his hand out.

The boy paused, and Hannah gave him a rough but persuasive shove.

“Samandriel,” he said, slipping his small hand into Dean’s rough palm. “But everyone calls me Alfie.”

“It’s good to meet you properly, Alfie,” Dean said seriously, as if talking to a comrade. “Nearly breaking my hand! Got a strong handshake there.”

He shook out his fist, grimacing dramatically before winking at the beaming child and rising up again.

“You met Castiel already,” Anna waved and Cas shot to his feet, almost tripping himself up in the process.

“Yes,” Castiel said awkwardly, not quite putting out his hand but not quite staying still either, his limbs caught in an uneasy twitchiness. “We met.”

“Not for long, though,” Dean replied, stepping closer. “Good to see you again, Cas.”

A fond, small smile spread on Dean’s face, and Cas felt the aching crack in his heart fill and swell. Seeing Dean in full daylight was a surprise enough, let alone having him walk through the door of their home- Cas was suddenly and irrationally troubled with the state of the house, wondering if it was clean and tidy and pretty enough for their guest. He resisted the urge to check every corner of the room for faults.

“Here, let me take your things,” Anna said, hefting up his couple of army issue bags and slinging them over her shoulders. “You’ll be staying in the barn house.”

Something malfunctioned inside Castiel’s brain for all of three seconds, before they were all following Anna and Dean into the kitchen. _Of course Dean would be living in the barn, where else would he stay?_ Anna ordered Cas to go and make sure the little partitioned room was set up, while everyone else showed Dean around the house. Cas took Dean’s bags to the barn, placing them next to the spare bed, and did some deep breathing.

Dean was there, at their farm, in Cas’s outhouse, staying for at least two weeks.

Cas concluded that yes, he was completely, and irrevocably, fucked.

He made the spare bed, tucking in the sheets and plumping up the pillow, and despite how pathetic it all looked- having a World War on meant you didn’t get much bedding- he comforted himself with the thought that anything Dean would have at his army base must be worse than this.

He heard voices approaching soon after- the door opened and Anna was there, Dean poking his head in first to look around, the sunlight illuminating him from behind.

“I’ll leave you with Castiel to settle in,” Anna smiled, then left them in peace.

 _Too much peace_ , Castiel thought. A thick, uncomfortable silence settled over them both, and Castiel wished he had something intelligent to say, but he couldn’t come up with the words.

“This mine?” Dean asked, gesturing towards the little bed that Cas was stood by.

Cas looked down at it dumbly, then realised he hadn’t responded.

“Yes!” he said, and a flush of embarrassment rose into his cheeks at how loudly he’d said it. “Um, I mean, yes, this is your bed. Your room.”

Dean nodded, a fond but questioning smile on his face, then moved over to his things as Cas stepped away. He looked around, head turning left and right and up and down, lingering on the stairs that led to Cas’s room.

“Nice place you got,” Dean complimented, putting one hand on his hip. “Homey-”

“Thank you,” Castiel said at the same time, interrupting, then immediately wished that God would just kill him already.

There was quiet, then a cow mooing in the near-distance.

“What’s upwards?” Dean pointed with his chin at the battered wooden door at the top of the small set of steps.

“Um,” Cas said, intelligently. “That’s my room.”

Dean’s eyes darted to him, his face cryptically blank. “You out here by yourself?”

Cas smiled awkwardly, trying to be polite but knowing he probably looked awful. “Well, uh… not anymore.”

Dean snorted a laugh through his nose and Cas was taken aback by the noise, not expecting Dean to find his bumbling embarrassment quite so amusing.

“Mind if I…?”

Before Cas could answer, Dean had flopped himself down on the bed, lying back and sighing heavily. Cas, stunned, watched the other man close his eyes and cross his arms over his chest.

“You know, you’re quite a rude person,” he said without preamble.

“And you’re blunt and sarcastic,” Dean shot back, not even opening his eyes. “You’ll get over it.”

“Get over you being rude, or get over me being blunt and sarcastic?” Cas asked, utterly deadpan.

“Both,” Dean said, a slight smile twitching up the edges of his lips.

“All right.” Cas stomped over to the door, pulling down a set of dark green fabric overalls, walked back over to the bed, and tossed them onto Dean’s face. “You’ll have a set of duties while you’re here, some more horrible and disgusting than others.”

Dean sat up slowly, pulling the overalls off his face, a small trace of terror reflecting in his expression.

“The day starts at dawn, with several tasks to be completed before breakfast- egg collecting, half the milking, some of the laundry, feeding and moving the animals that need to be fed and moved, and- of course- someone has to make breakfast.”

Dean looked sheepish as Cas listed the things they had to do, all playful humour drained out of his face.

“Oh, but on Saturdays all of that happens after breakfast.” Castiel added, a smug smile lighting up his face. “We work on a rota, moving from one job to the next job the next day, but it’s sometimes disrupted by the children.”

Dean nodded, still holding the cloth dungarees in a loose fist in his lap.

“The real work begins after breakfast. Each day is different, but these next couple of weeks are vital to the farm- it’s harvest time for several of our fields of crops, and all of the produce from them needs to be gathered. You will help make hay bales, reap wheat and corn, dig any land that needs digging, do more laundry, help clean the house, keep an eye on the children, move animals again, clean animal pens, feed animals again, organise produce, stack it on our cart, and deliver it all to the village every day except Sundays.”

Dean swallowed, only looking mildly terrified.

“Clear?” Castiel asked.

“Crystal.”

Cas smiled, and nodded down at the overalls. “You’ll be needing them.”

“I figured,” Dean said, opening them out to look at the few worn holes in the material. “Well, when do I start?”

 

Dean regretted asking.

Cas had dragged him out into the sun once he’d changed clothes, and now they were knee deep in horse shit. _Almost_ literally.

Dean was about ninety percent certain the only reason they were doing this was because Cas wanted to see him suffer.

As charming as shovelling horse crap out of a stable in the midday summer heat was, Dean really couldn’t help wanting to have had a job at least a _little_ more pleasant for his first day on the farm, but- as he’d already decided- Castiel was a sick, sick man, despite his endless charm and unbearably good looks.

And it was, quite frankly, _unfair_ that Cas looked so damn good when he had animal excrement smeared around the ankles of his pants, and sweat patches down the back of his loose, pale blue shirt. Even in the low light of the stable, his eyes were bright and stunning, and Dean knew that Cas was staring at him because every time he looked up, Cas’s head would instantly dart away to suddenly find great fascination in anything that was less than one metre away from him.

Dean wasn’t about to deny that what he and Cas had had that night back at the dance had been anything short of wonderful, but thinking about what he was risking now that they were here together for two weeks and over, he hardly dared to even think about the spark that was still lit inside him, nor the flutter of his heart when Cas was close to him.

They finished cleaning the stables after half an hour or so, Cas taking Dean for a glass of water by their barn house before bringing him out to see the fields.

A few of the wide open spaces were only grassland, where Dean could see a single horse, thirteen or fourteen cows, and a flock of sheep all grazing, as well as a cordoned off area for many chickens and two roosters. Surrounding fields were filled with golden and green crops alike, the gentle hills disappearing into the distance.

“Impressive bit of land you got here,” Dean said, hand shielding his eyes from the sun as he looked out over as much of the farm as he could see.

Cas smiled softly, leaning on his hands that rested on his lower back. “It’s a beautiful place.”

Dean hummed his agreement, and looked to the man next to him. They were closer than he’d realised, their shoulders brushing, and Dean blushed and shuffled away.

It was hard to believe they’d swum naked in a river together only a couple of nights before.

Cas tossed Dean a pair of thick gloves and began putting on his own, wading out into the rows of waist-height plants.

“Weeding,” Cas explained succinctly, grabbing hold of Dean’s sleeve and tugging him down to his knees with a yelp.

They spent several hours tugging the offending weeds from the soil, both of them sweaty and dirty by the time they’d finished. Cas had brought a trug with him, and it was now filled with the early potatoes that he’d forked from the ground, as well as a few bunches of bright carrots and rich green leaves.

They walked back to the house, arms brushing and always just a little too close to each other, Cas explaining more things about the farm and its role in the livelihood of the village. Dean was happy just to listen to him talk, enjoying every second of that whiskey-deep voice that sent chills down his spine.

“Done for today?” Balthazar asked when they came back in.

He was stood over the kitchen table, rolling out bread dough on a wooden board, flour all up his arms.

“I think enough for Dean,” Cas said, carrying the trug to the sink and rinsing the muddy vegetables off. “Can someone else feed Rosie?”

Balthazar nodded, and Dean’s curiosity got the better of him.

“Who’s Rosie?” he asked.

“Our horse,” Cas answered, turning off the tap.

“I can feed her,” Dean offered, ignoring the twinge in his back that told him any more work was an awful idea, in favour of listening to the niggle in his brain that knew he could spend more time with Cas if he did.

Cas’s blue eyes met his and considered him for a moment, and Dean was almost certain Cas had figured out his motivations.

“You could take Dean down for a swim, Cas?” Balthazar suggested, and a vice of panic at being found out about their previous time together tightened around Cas’s chest. “Show him the river, and get washed up, as you’re…”

He gestured down at them both with one doughy hand, and Cas exhaled an inaudible sigh of relief.

“Yes, of course.” He nodded, leading Dean out of the kitchen again, his hands dripping water onto the tiles as they went.

They went back to the stable they’d been in earlier, except this time there was an actual, almost six-foot tall horse inside it.

Rosie was a shire horse, built strong and stocky to endure the tasks she would have to carry out as a working animal, but gentle and friendly in her mannerisms. She was black with tints of red in her hair, and had fluffy white socks above her hooves.

Dean helped Cas stack hay up for her and replace her water, all the while watching and listening to Cas lovingly interact with the creature that must have been like another member of the family. He only realised he was smiling stupidly when Cas looked back at him from smoothing Rosie’s face, eyebrows furrowed in a questioning expression.

“So, the river?” Dean said smugly, leaning against the door to the stable, watching a flush redden Cas’s ears.

“Yes, we’ll head down now,” Cas said, patting Rosie’s neck one more time before leaving the stable and joining Dean outside.

The perspective was different, this time- for a start, it was daytime, so Dean could see the paths that they were taking, and now they were coming from the opposite direction. The hill they’d climbed over and run down before was now in front of him, in the near distance, and he could see the groups of trees that followed a winding line that cut through the valley.

They headed towards the small woodland, still having to jump over fences and trek through fields.

The glade was just as beautiful in the daylight. Although it had lost the inky magic it possessed at night, with the moon reflecting on the rippling water, the warm sunshine gave it its own stunning features. Dean could almost make out the riverbed where Cas had collected his stones, the water crystal clear and glistening in the afternoon sun, and the leaves on the trees that lined the channel were vibrantly green. He looked over the smooth stone that rose out of the water, the top of which they’d jumped from, and at the tiny beach that led to the banks and into the water.

Just as before, Cas began undressing without delay- and this time Dean followed his example without hesitating.

Neither of them said a word as they ran into the cool river, feeling refreshed and alive under its current, and Dean spent the next hour watching Cas’s lithe body move effortlessly through the water. There was a timidity to Cas now that hadn’t been there before, though. He wasn’t as bold in his advances, and he barely ever made contact with Dean unless it was a press on his shoulder or a push on his head to dunk him underneath the surface.

Dean chalked it up to the fact that this wasn’t a dream, not as it had felt like before. They couldn’t spend one night together and then pretend it never happened, because they were here, _now_ , and they had nowhere to run. Dean knew that Cas was trying to keep his distance, because Dean was doing exactly the same thing.

There was nothing he had wanted more in those hours spent with Castiel than to hold him in his arms, run his hands over his silk-smooth, tanned skin, press his lips to Cas’s- but he couldn’t. He didn’t have it in him, no matter how desperately he wanted it.

They clambered out of the water when the sun was low in the sky, and the slight chill of late afternoon had arrived in the form of a stronger breeze, making goose bumps rise on their flesh.

Castiel had washed their clothes in the fresh river, not saying a word as he had handed them back to Dean. Something warm and affectionate bloomed in Dean’s chest, and he stifled it before it grew too overwhelming.

 _Christ_ , he had it bad.

During the walk home, as the sky faded in intensity and settled into a gentler orange, Cas had brushed his hand over Dean’s, his warm fingers making painfully brief contact with Dean’s skin. Dean had grasped the opportunity while he had it.

Purposefully avoiding any eye contact, Dean slipped his hand into Cas’s, holding it gently as they walked. He knew he was blushing like a schoolgirl, but he couldn’t help it, and when Cas looked away too he knew this was _right_. Cas’s palm was warm in Dean’s hold, his touch a soothing balm to the aches and stresses that had wreaked havoc on Dean’s body and mind in the past few weeks. It wasn’t earth-shatteringly extraordinary- it was just hand holding, after all- but it was… _nice_.

And nice was good enough for Dean, for now.

Dinner was rowdy, with everyone laughing and sharing stories, Dean being coerced into talking about what life was like in America. Charlie’s eyes were glistening the whole time he was talking. Dean found that he hadn’t felt quite so happy in a long while, and realised that he maybe actually had a chance of fitting in somewhere, for once. The feeling was foreign, and wonderful.

They all helped clean up in some way, the sun setting through the delicate curtains of the windows, then swept the house to fix the blackout blinds in place. Cas put Alfie to bed, and Dean watched him, unnoticed, as he animatedly read a story to the child. The warmth in his chest only grew.

They said their goodnights, then slipped away back to their barn house, Dean marvelling at the expanse of stars above them as they went. With no lights coming from the town, there was no light pollution, so the sky was lit up with twinkling dots, so vast and enthralling that Dean’s heart almost raced. Cas indulged and spent a while staring at them too, both of them quiet in their appreciation of the view.

Cas lingered at Dean’s side, but eventually opened their door and slipped inside, waiting for Dean to follow him in. He blocked up the door and windows before lighting a couple of candles and an oil lamp, the tiny flames barely more than flickers of light, and Dean watched him fold a few items of clothing, the angular lines of his face highlighted by shadows formed from the weak amber glow.

Cas paused at the foot of the stairs, his shirt unbuttoned around his neck to reveal the skin of his throat, holding the oil lamp in one hand and his folded clothes in the other.

Dean held his stare for an uncomfortable minute, gazing into dark blue eyes until Cas breathed out a sigh and gave up on the idea of whatever he had been trying to say.

“Good night, Dean,” he said gently, something guarded that had been present for the whole day falling away from his expression, baring him to the other man.

“Night, Cas,” Dean offered back, and watched the figure disappear up the stairs, blue eyes peering back for a second through the crack in the door, then closing it behind him.

Dean stared at the knots in the aged wood for a long time, before turning over, and falling quickly into a dreamless sleep.

 

~*~

 

After waking up at an ungodly hour- Cas grumbling as he tramped down the stairs with his clothes half on and half off, having breakfast, milking cows (something Dean knew how to do from back home), and storing the milk in metal pails- Dean went with the family to deliver their produce to the village.

Everyone helped load up their old wooden cart- even Alfie, who carefully carried egg boxes and passed them to Meg, who smiled kindly at the boy and quietly praised him when he was finished, which was a strange sight based on what Dean knew of her so far.

The roads were uneven and made the cart bump up and down like mad, and only Dean seemed to be in any kind of pain, sat crushed up against everyone else on narrow benches made of planks of thick wood in the carriage. Rosie was doing a valiant job of travelling the roads, pulling a heavy load behind her, but Dean knew she did this every day so it couldn’t have been too hard on her.

Dean watched the scenery pass them by- more fields, then some more fields, the solid landscape sometimes interrupted by a barn or house, others littered with livestock or birds feeding from the earth.

They made it to the village reasonably quickly, where everyone scrambled off in different directions to complete different tasks. Charlie was assigned shopping duty, and Dean watched her count and check the rationing coupons she had before entering each shop- the butcher’s, the bakery, the grocer’s, and the newsagent. Dean helped Cas and Anna to unload crates of vegetables to a couple of different shops, the owners handing over some money for each delivery.

It was interesting to see the village life- there were children in the streets, clothed in fruit or dirt stained little dresses and shirts and trousers and overalls, all of them laughing and running around. Adults bustled around the shops, some of them queuing in long lines to get their share of rations, a few with wailing or sleeping babies nestled in their arms.

The red brick houses were small and quaint, most of them attached or semi-detached, winding down the various narrow roads, smoke billowing from some of the chimneys. Dean imagined that usually they would have hung a few strings of bunting between top floor windowsills for the arrival of the soldiers, but fabric rationing prevented them from ‘wasting’ any material on anything but clothing.

A car drove down the main road at one point, passing through the village on its way to somewhere further away and probably bigger- a city, most likely- and the children chased after it until it was out of sight, waving at the drivers. Dean laughed as Meg struggled to keep Alfie in her arms- he evidently wanted to join in the fun, especially as Hannah had run off with the other children, but wasn’t going to be allowed.

When all their tasks were complete, they climbed back on the empty cart, and headed home. It was tiring, but nice to be in touch with some of the wider world again after living in the quiet, secluded setting of the farm.

Back at home, Dean and Castiel set to work at moving the sheep from the field they’d almost completely grazed and into the next- which was a lot more difficult and time consuming than Dean had expected. Castiel told him that they had had a sheepdog, several years ago, but it had died and they couldn’t provide the meat for a working dog when they were on rations, so they hadn’t bought a new one. They learned to make do, and Dean fumbled his way through Cas’s shouted instructions to try to keep the animals in a group.

They managed it eventually- with a lot of trial and error and wayward sheep- and headed back to the house, the sun that beat down on them becoming stiflingly hot.

Cas turned on the outdoor tap, undoing the top few buttons of his light grey shirt, and splashed the running water on his face and the back of his neck. He scrubbed his hands, though the dirt that always seemed to be stuck under his fingernails didn’t come out, and Dean did the same after. Cas stared as the droplets ran down Dean’s face, cleaning the muck and dust from his skin to reveal his spattering of freckles, now slightly darker from being in the sun for hours on end.

Taking a small punnet of fresh strawberries from the kitchen garden by the house, they walked out to one of the nearby fields where a small barn stood, and Cas led Dean through the huge door and inside.

It was dry and dusty, beams of light leaking through the cracks in the roughly-hammered together walls, slicing the dimness up in stark lines that fell upon the floor and stretched until they thinned and disappeared. Stacks of hay and straw were beginning to be built up all along the edges, the dried grasses cushioning their feet from the packed earth and stone beneath them. Rustles and crackling came with each of their footsteps, and a tiny bird high above their heads fluttered its wings noisily and flew out of a hole near the roof.

“We’ll be filling this up in the next few weeks,” Cas explained and looked up and around, then back to Dean, the strawberries still resting on his bent arm, a single stream of warm light falling across his middle and neck.

They stood across from each other, only a few feet between them- a distance that was close enough to be bordering on invading personal space, but not nearly as close as they wanted to be to each other.

A thought that had been pestering Dean for days now built on the back of his tongue as he looked at Cas- Cas, who was the spitting image of a fit, healthy young man, exactly the kind the government were pining for.

"So, I gotta ask," Dean said, rubbing the back of his head nervously. “Why weren’t you drafted?”

Cas paused, tilting his head to look at Dean. “I was.”

“Then why aren’t you fightin’ somewhere?” Dean squinted.

Cas lifted a finger, pointing at his face. “Because I’m half blind in my right eye.”

Dean merely blinked. “Damn.”

Castiel smiled. “I used to be almost completely blind in it, so it’s not so bad.”

“It’s getting better?” Dean asked.

“Yes,” Castiel looked down to his feet, placing the fruit down by them. “They check me every six months, but it hasn’t been good enough to fire a gun accurately yet. Apparently, that’s what matters.” He scoffed, running a length of hay through his fingers.

“Born that way?” Dean said, then slapped his hand to his head, squeezing his eyes shut. “Sorry, shit. Gotta learn to stop poking at things I don’t deserve to know.”

“Dean,” Cas laughed fondly. “It’s fine. And no, not born with it.” He sighed, sitting on the hay bale beneath him. “It was a few months before the war started. I was eighteen, and reckless.”

Dean sat himself down on the dusty floor, resting against the bale behind him and directly opposite Cas, one knee bent up, the other leg stretched in front of him.

“I decided to repair the roof of a house in the village, with no rope or scaffolding or anything to keep me safe. Stupid idea, I’m telling you- don’t try it yourself. I don’t know, there must have been a tile loose or something beneath my foot, because one second I was pulling up crumbled brick from the outer walls, and the next I was trying desperately to grab hold of the gutter as my balance tipped back.”

Dean watched Cas lift a hand to his head, rubbing it probably without realising.

“I didn’t reach. I remember that feeling you get in your stomach when your heart skips a beat because you know you’re falling, like you get in dreams, and then waking up for all of twenty seconds, lying on the ground, fuzzy faces hovering over me, before passing out again.”

Dean winced in sympathy. “Shit.”

“Yeah,” Cas agreed, realising he had his hand in his hair and pulling it back down to his lap. “I smacked my head on the stone pathway that circled the house, and broke my leg too. I kept waking up, but couldn’t _stay_ awake for more than a couple of minutes, which made everything really confusing. The local doctor checked me, and I woke up properly to see Anna sobbing, and my brother Raphael with his arms crossed.”

Cas laughed. “That was… hilarious. He was angry that I’d been so ‘ _foolish, careless, and wildly irresponsible_ ’.” Cas lifted his fingers to air-quote.

“Yeah, big brothers are like that,” Dean nodded, a reserved smile on his face.

“Anyway,” Cas continued, taking advantage of their lighter mood and digging into the strawberries, offering them out to Dean. “I realised a couple of minutes later that I couldn’t see more than a few grey and black smudges in my right eye, and- as I _was_ heavily concussed- decided that my first words to Anna would be ‘I think I’m blind’.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, mouth stuffed with fruit. “How’d that one go down?”

Cas laughed, the movement lighting up his face, his eyes crinkling around the edges. “Not well, as you can imagine. Another brother, Michael, went to grab the doctor, but they couldn’t figure out what was going on. I went to the hospital in the city for some tests, but all they could really say was that they saw people who had similar afflictions after head injuries, but could never predict when or if their sight would return.”

Cas shrugged. “It was a gamble. I’m still waiting to see if I can win it back.”

“Huh,” Dean said, sighing as they settled into a tranquil silence.

Cas fiddled with his fingers, plucking the stalks off a few strawberries, but continued to steal glances at Dean when he thought Dean wasn’t looking.

Dean’s face was relaxed, his eyelids drooping, and Cas wondered what it would be like to kiss him, then put up a mental barrier in front of the image.

“What’re everyone’s stories?” Dean asked tentatively. “If you don’t mind me snooping.”

“Our stories?” Cas asked, mouth curving downwards in a puzzled frown. “The only stories I know are the ones I tell to Alfie.”

Dean kicked him in the shin, and Cas laughed again. “Stop being a dick, Cas, I know you know what I meant.”

Cas squinted at him, a sly smile lifting the corners of his mouth. He picked up a strawberry and popped it between his lips, pink juice wetting the chapped skin, and Dean stared.  

“Well, there’s Balthazar,” Cas started, snapping Dean out of his trance. “He’s the oldest- he’s twenty-eight- and currently owns the rights to the land. It belonged equally between the men who used to live here, but now they’re off fighting.”

“Michael and Raphael were two of them, right?” Dean recalled. “Were there others?”

“Yes, Lucifer and Gabriel, too.”

“Wow,” Dean scoffed, “really into the biblical names here, huh?”

“So it seems.” Castiel’s eyes fogged over a little. “It’s because we all came from the same orphanage in the city, and we were all doorstep babies. The matron there, she… had to come up with some unique ones, considering how many children she saw coming through.

“Lucifer’s the same age as Balth. Michael is the oldest of all of us. He’s thirty, and then there’s Gabriel, who’s twenty-seven, then Anna, who’s twenty-five, and Raphael, who’s twenty-three. I’ll show you a photograph, if you’d like. A man used to own the farm, he was the one who adopted the oldest six, then finally me. I don’t remember much of him, but he was… a father to the others. He died when I was very young.

“It was just the seven of us for a long time,” Cas continued, obviously picturing his childhood.

“And then… 1939, right?” Dean said.

Cas nodded. “Balthazar never wanted to fight. He won’t actively oppose it, but doesn’t say much about it either. Farmers, for a while, were exempted from the conscription lists, so it wasn’t a problem. Then they started evacuating children from the cities.

“Alfie came first, in a mad rush in June 1940. A group of children from London were taken to the village hall, all sat in lines of chairs, most of them crying, and we couldn’t bear to not help out, being orphans ourselves. We went down, and Samandriel was there, and we took him home with us. He was two years old, just a baby, and he’d been taken away from his parents one day, just like that, and he hasn’t seen them since. I think he’ll forget them completely if he’s here much longer.”

Dean can see the hurt that flashes across Cas’s eyes, the sympathy for a child who might lose his parents.

“He slept in a cot in my room for a while, hence his, uh… attachment to me. Hannah came a few months after, from a wealthier family.”

“Which explains her lofty attitude,” Dean jumped in loudly, as if he’d suddenly had an epiphany.

“Yes,” Castiel agreed, then his face lit up with mirth. “She didn’t even know what a cow was, and she screamed every time she saw one for a week.”

Dean laughed, drinking in Cas’s happy expression.

“The War carried on, more and more men were lost, and so last year they lifted the exemption on farmers. We were all called down for health checks, but they didn’t even bother with fitness tests anymore. Michael, Luke, Gabe, and Raph all managed to squirm their way into the RAF, but a man had to stay behind to keep ownership of the farm. Balthazar used an old leg injury as an escape, and he and I both stayed behind.”

“What about Meg and Charlie, then?” Dean asked.

“Land girls,” Cas explained, nudging Dean’s foot with his own and acting like he hadn’t done anything. “Meg first, then Charlie. Meg’s twenty, a year younger than me, and Charlie’s eighteen. Also, I think she has a thing for you.”

“Who, Charlie?” Dean asked, looking shocked.

“Not in the- not the way you’re thinking,” Cas stuttered over the fruit in his mouth. “As in… she just… likes you. As a friend.”

“Oh?” Dean asked, slightly ruffled by Cas’s strange explanation.

“Charlie has a newfound interest in someone from the village.” Cas revealed, and Dean raised his eyebrows suggestively. “Dorothy, I think. She met her the same night as we…”

“Oh,” Dean said, gears turning in his head, his eyes widening. “ _Oh_.”

“Not that we’re-“ Cas stopped, biting his lip and ducking his head in embarrassment.

They sat in an awkward silence for a long time, the sounds of the birds and wind outside uncomfortably loud when neither of them knew what to say.

“But,” Cas started and fiddled nervously with a pulled thread on his trousers, “what about you, Dean?”

“Me?” Dean asked, incredulous, as if Cas couldn’t _possibly_ want to know anything about him.

“You’re still almost a complete mystery to me,” Cas said, and Dean knew it was true.

There was another silence, Cas staring at Dean with the full intensity of his blue eyes, and _Christ_ \- Cas would make a good detective with a stare like that.

“I, uh… there’s not much to tell,” Dean settled on, shifting uncomfortably while Cas stayed absolutely motionless. “Born in Lawrence, Kansas, to John and Mary Winchester. Got a kid brother- Sam. He’s…”

Dean shook his head, a thousand-watt smile lighting up his face.

“He’s my life.”

Cas nodded slowly, as if he understood, but Dean didn’t think he did.

“And I mean… I grew up being more of a dad to Sammy than dad was.”

Cas’s eyebrows worried together. “What about your mother?”

“Died.” Dean said abruptly, and the air grew thick. “House set on fire when I was six; we made it out, she didn’t.”

“I’m so sorry, Dean,” Cas said, sincere as ever, and Dean pulled a tight-lipped smile.

“Yeah.” Dean drew in a long breath, looking from hand to hand in his lap.

“What’s your brother doing?” Cas changed the subject, sensing that Dean didn’t want to talk about his mother anymore.

“School,” Dean said. “He’s nearly seventeen. Idiot kid wants to sign up as soon as he can. Think I persuaded him out of it before I left, saying I needed something to come home to. I couldn’t do it, if I knew Sam was out there too. He’s so smart, Cas- he’s gonna be something when he’s older, I know it, and I won’t let him waste it on some… dumb shit war.”

Cas smiled affectionately. “You love him very much.”

Dean snorted a fond laugh through his nose. “Nah, he’s too annoying for that. God but I miss him, though.”

“You’ll be home soon,” Cas reassured, but both of them knew it was a lie. “Anyone else?”

“An old friend of the family, Ellen Harvelle,” Dean started again, his face livelier. “She owns the bar where I work on and off, when we’re not moving ‘round. Tough love kinda woman. And her daughter, Jo- practically our little sister. She’s fifteen, and _boy_ is she rowdy as hell.

“And Jess, I tell you- sweetest and smartest girl you’ll ever meet,” Dean beamed. “She and Sam have been best friends since they were toddlin’ around in tiny baby stockings. They’re gonna get married someday, Cas, I’d bet you a hundred on it.”

“I’m not going to risk it,” Cas smiled.

“Then there’s Bobby- my dad’s old friend,” Dean said, patting his thighs. “He’s the closest thing I have to a real father. He did normal shit with me and Sammy, took us to parks and let us be kids while dad was passed out on someone else’s couch, probably. Mom… it really messed him up. And, yeah, he tried sometimes but… never enough.”

Cas frowned in sympathy, his eyes downcast and sad.

“Yeah, well, enough of the sob story,” Dean said, voice struggling as he rose to his feet, extending his hand and offering it to Cas.

Cas looked up at him, not moving for a second, then seemed to get with the picture. He took Dean’s hand and let him help him up, both of them stiflingly close, their palms still locked together.

They stared in each other’s eyes for an endless moment, their faces only inches apart, and when Cas’s eyes fell to Dean’s mouth, Dean quickly pulled away, tripping over his own feet.

“Are you okay?” Cas asked, completely calm.

“Yeah!” Dean said overenthusiastically and inwardly cringed. “Yeah, I’m- I’m fine. You just… that was very…”

Cas’s head tilted to the side, looking both amused and perplexed, and Dean mentally prayed for death to just take him already.

“Right,” Cas said awkwardly, both of them stood absolutely still again.

They walked back to the house in silence; awful, suffocating silence, and Dean wanted to punch himself in the face. They’d been so close, Dean could have just leant forward and then they would have-

Dean really had to stop daydreaming.

Him and Cas? It was never going to happen, and he knew it. He barely even knew the guy, not really, and besides, he only had a couple of weeks here at best, and then he’d be off to war, and after that he’d go home to a country on the other side of the world.

 _So_ , he thought, _why is it so hard to let go_?

 

~*~

 

They settled into a routine over the next few days, both of them dancing around each other, constantly stealing glances and smiles as they worked.

Cas grew uneasy, knowing that the others would be watching them, but he couldn’t _stop_. Every touch filled him with elation, each smile twisting his stomach into fluttering knots, Dean’s soul lighting Cas’s very being into flames. Whenever they were apart Cas felt starved, empty, and knew that Dean had dug a hole in the middle of his heart, nestling himself in the hollow space.

They worked well together, and they got jobs done quickly, and Cas found that Dean was a fast learner when he paid attention.

They’d split up to work on different things today, Dean slumming it in the laundry with Charlie while Cas went to make some food and bake bread with Meg.

Washing sheets and clothes was one of Dean’s favoured jobs, mostly because he got to keep his hands clean, and when they were done he felt warmed by Charlie’s company. Cas had been right- they got along very well, and Charlie was fascinated with all the stories he told of his life back at home. She’d even managed to goad him into promising to send a few comic books back from America when he got home. His soul felt lighter, less conflicted, and his thoughts flitted between the members of the rag-tag family, finally working out some of their dynamics.

Dean walked into the kitchen, drying his hands on an old floral tea-towel, and froze on the spot. His blood ran cold.

Cas was there- Castiel, the man he was…

Castiel was there, with his arm around a girl’s waist and his tongue down her throat. _Meg’s_ throat. Meg, who Cas lived with. Meg, who was obviously more than just a _friend_.

Dean felt the anger bubbling up inside his chest first, and then a painful, burning _hurt_ ripped its way like lightning through his heart. He tried to stay studious, but the shock on his face was impossible to hide.

Cas’s smiling eyes finally met his, after Meg jabbed his leg with a thumb, her lips still shining. Cas seemed to flinch as he drew in a sharp breath and swallowed, expression dropping instantly, and Dean could barely even look at his face.

He started looking back on all the moments they’d had together, wondering if it had all just been a game, a hoax, something to wind Dean up. And then he wondered if Cas just… didn’t like him, if he’d got it all _horribly_ wrong right from the start, if there was some kind of cultural difference Dean hadn’t picked up on that explained Cas’s behaviour, his flirting.

The thought made him feel like there was something shrivelling up and dying inside him.

There was a woman and a man Dean didn’t recognise stood in the room, too, and- realising that the strangers had picked up on the tension in the air- he started attempting to cover his vulnerability. Neither him nor Cas could afford to make glaring mistakes, no matter what they truly meant to each other.

Focusing instead on Meg, Dean tossed his rag down on the table. “Excuse me.”

He left the room, suddenly able to breathe again, his lungs heavy and head spinning. He could hear the unknown man and woman explaining that they were about to leave anyway, evidently understanding that there was an issue between the three of them. Dean just hoped they thought it was him and Meg that were the would-be couple. Bursting out of the backdoor when the people left, Dean could hear footsteps following behind him, and the low, sultry voice of Meg whispering to Cas, who resolutely kept his silence.

When they were all inside the barn house, an uneasy quiet fell over them as Dean wiped his palm down his face. When he turned to the pair, stood a little distance away from each other now, he saw the amusement written all over Meg’s face- which only confused him more. She looked between him and Cas a few times as they continued their staring, and abruptly came to a realisation Dean hadn’t clocked on to yet.

Meg's seemingly always-raised eyebrow shot up even higher, and she whistled a dumbfounded tone. “I’ll leave you two cracked nuts to talk this one over.”

Dean barely noticed what she said, nor her leaving.

He turned away with a bitter shake of his head from a silent Cas, heading towards the door again.

“Dean- wait!” Castiel pleaded desperately.

Dean had to restrain himself from shouting. Every thought that ran through his head was filling him with poison, his whole body giving in to the venom that told him how _wrong_ he’d been about everything, how foolish and headstrong he was in believing he and Cas had had anything between them.

“Dean, it’s…” Cas started, tripping over his words.

“It’s what, _complicated_?” Dean hissed. “Don’t pull that shit on me.”

“It _is_ complicated, Dean.” Cas began again, clenching his fists at his sides. “Just let me explain-“

“Explain what?” Dean snarled. “I don’t think there’s much to _explain_ , Cas!”

“I have reasons,” Cas added, breathing more heavily now that the frustration was building inside him, his tongue tied, desperate not to let out the reckless words he wanted to say. 

“Reasons? What, like you wanted to… to lead me on? So you could still keep swindling me while playing tonsil-hockey with Meg? You get off on that?”

“Stop being so _childish_ , I’m-“

“You’re _what_ , Cas?” Dean spat, stepping back from Cas’s advances. “Straight? Trying to out me or something?”

Cas’s eyes widened as he watched a glaze of fear settle over Dean’s eyes. “No! _God_ -“

“I can’t believe I fell for this…” Dean whispered, rubbing his eyes. An abrupt and harsh laugh escaped his mouth, something tight and painful clawing at his chest and heart. “You didn’t mean any of it. God, I was so goddamn stupid- you… you lied to me, all this time.”

“Dean, just listen to me,” Cas said, clenching his jaw. “For one _damn_ second, listen to what I-“

“No, Cas. No, I don’t… I don’t care. _Fuck_ you, fuck you for…” Dean’s voice cracked. “For breaking my _fucking_ heart. I thought I meant somethi- _fuck_!”

“ _Dean_!” Castiel’s hands continued to clench by his sides, his obvious anger at being shut down over and over again rippling through his tense muscles as he took an aborted step closer.

Dean didn’t stop, tears in his eyes, a tremble in his mouth. “Was none of it real? Was it really a lie? _All_ of it? Did you really feel _nothing_ for me? I thought we-”

Cas surged forward, filled with fury, hands coming up by his head and then-

Then Cas was kissing Dean, gripping his face, running his fingers through his hair and claiming him, pushing their lips together as if his life depended on it. Dean’s brain short-circuited because _Cas was kissing him_ , then he realised- _holy shit,_ Cas _was kissing him_. With a fever he couldn’t control, he let them take a breath before diving back in, teasing Castiel’s lips with insistent presses of his tongue, urging and demanding his way into the heat of his mouth.

With a swipe over his lip, Castiel let him in, and then their tongues were moving in tandem, back and forth, and _fuck_ , Cas was so perfect, so beautiful, so _warm_ and-

Dean finally put his hands on Cas’s waist, pressing his hand up his back and inside his shirt, smoothing over Cas’s silky skin. A low and breathy moan escaped Cas’s mouth and was stifled by Dean kissing him, and holy _shit_ that was one of the hottest things Dean had ever heard.

Cas’s fingers tangled in Dean’s hair, gripping him close, and he crowded them together so that their chests were flush. Dean could feel the excited thrum of energy that shook through Cas’s body, and a rush of heat lit up inside his stomach, too. Cas wouldn’t let Dean pull away, holding him tight and never stopping their kiss.

Dean felt lightheaded, and with a few slow bites on his bottom lip, Cas finally stopped. They breathed heavily into each other’s mouths for a long moment, gasping for air, until Cas twitched and opened his eyes wide, suddenly realising what he’d just done. He stepped back quickly, taking himself away from Dean before he could dive in for more.

Castiel looked at Dean, and almost regretted it.

His cheeks were rosy and his eyes were still closed, the gentle afternoon light that filtered in through the windows brightening his golden skin. When his long eyelashes flickered open Cas stared at him, still breathing heavily, and wondered if his heart was going to burst out of his chest. Dean was stuck in a daze of some kind, and slowly lifted his fingers to his face, brushing them over his lips like he was chasing the sensation of Cas’s kiss, savouring it and trying to believe that it had really happened.

Dean looked up just in time to see Cas lick his lips, tasting _Dean_ and wanting to hold onto it forever.

“I’m a queer,” Cas breathed, almost laughing at the stupidity of it all. “I like men, you _idiot_.”

Dean blinked a few more times, his hand dropping, eyebrows drawing together. “Cas…?”

“Meg is… Meg’s a distraction,” Cas began, nervously shifting to his other foot. “I’m twenty-one, Dean; people expect me to have at least _met_ a girl by now. Meg, she… she knows- what I am- and she doesn’t want to settle down any time soon, so we have an arrangement, we- we act like a couple-“

“Cas-“

“-so that everyone thinks we’re just endlessly flirting, and that someday we’ll realise how much we love each other or something, and get married and have children, but Dean- no, no, we’re not a- a _thing_. I just can’t risk rousing suspicion-“

“Do it again.”

“Because they would all-“ Cas stopped, his head darting up from the hole he was burning in the floor to look at Dean. “What?”

Dean took one step closer. “Again. Do it again.”

Cas searched his face, but Dean just looked at him, _really_ looked at him. “Do what again?”

When Dean closed the distance, Cas understood.

Dean’s fingers went to Cas’s face this time, his palm cupping Cas’s flushed cheek, holding him so gently, so tenderly. Cas drew in a tiny gasp, feeling the goose bumps erupt along his arms. Dean leaned in slowly, his eyes fixed on Cas’s pink lips to watch him breathe shakily in anticipation, and eventually closed his eyes and sealed the last centimetre between them.

The kiss was soft this time. Dean kissed Cas like he was fragile, something to be treasured and taken apart piece by piece, and Cas melted into his touch. Dean’s mouth was warm and inviting and they moved languidly together, happy to just explore and taste each other. Cas felt himself sighing dazedly into Dean’s mouth, huffing little content moans, and Dean returned the low hums. Cas could feel the vibrations from the sounds Dean was making, and they sent a shiver all the way down his body.

When they stopped again, Dean stroked his thumbs over Cas’s cheekbones and their foreheads touched, just staying close to each other, Cas with one palm pressed to Dean’s chest and the other bunched in his shirt. The elated smile on Dean’s face came next, and he slipped his hands down to Cas’s neck as they smiled at each other.

“I…” Cas began, biting his bottom lip, “wouldn’t be opposed to… doing that again, sometime.”

Dean huffed out a breath which abruptly turned into laughs. Cas drew his head back, standing at a distance from which he could properly see Dean- crinkled eyes and all.

“Me neither, Cas,” Dean agreed, hooking his little finger into Cas’s. “Which, I guess, kind of makes us a… _thing_ , now.”

“Yes,” Cas said, completely enamoured. “I suppose it does.”

“I…” Dean started nervously, and ducked his head. “I really like you, Cas.”

“I really like you too, Dean.”

The door creaked open, and they both bolted away from each other on reflex. Meg sauntered in with a grin on her face that told them she knew exactly what had just happened.

“Aww, Dean-o, you’re _blushing_ ,” she said, her voice turning babyish. “You two got your heads out of your asses now?”

Dean looked at Cas, slightly bewildered.

“Good.” Meg announced, swaying quickly towards Dean and winking at him. “Then _we’ve_ got house-cleaning duty, and Cassie-Bean is due for his daily check-in with that old tractor seat. Don’t get too excited on it though, will you Clarence?”

Cas flushed pink, but managed a scowl nonetheless as Dean was practically dragged out of the building.

“Gotta save yourself for Mr. Hunky GI here tonight,” she slapped Dean’s chest, and slipped out the door.

“I’ll-” Dean paused, “see you later, Cas.”

Cas mumbled a goodbye, but Dean was already gone- albeit reluctantly. He reached his hand to his lips again, and laughed- laughed with joy, as an eruption of happiness exploded in his chest. He looked all around the room, but every thought was filled with _Dean_. He felt like he was taking off from the ground and floating into the air, and everything was _Dean_.

 

Barely a minute after they were out of the barn, Meg turned on Dean, stopping him in his tracks.

Her eyes blazed in a way Dean had never seen before, a fire burning beneath her skin and igniting in her clenched jaw, staring at him angrily. Bewildered, he barely had time to register what was going on before she was advancing on him, holding up one finger to his face.

“We’ve gotta have a little talk about angel face back there,” Meg started, pointing with a jut of her chin back to the barn.

“What about?” Dean asked, utterly lost.

Meg huffed a few angry breaths in and out, jaw clenching, then grabbed Dean by the shirt, pushing him back a step. He flinched, raising his hands in surrender, and met her raging stare. After a minute where she seemed to consider what she was about to do- either snap his head off or stab him in the gut, as far as Dean could tell- her eyes flicked down to the dusty ground, a breath huffing from her nose, and she stepped back with a defeated but still aggressively stubborn movement.

“What the hell was that about?” Dean asked, straightening his shirt.

Grinding her teeth together and obviously thinking about what she was trying to say, Meg squinted at Dean.

“You’re not going to be here for long, Dean,” she started. “You better be _damn_ sure about what you’re doing.”

“Hey, _I’m_ in danger here too.” Dean scowled. “If you’re worried about me… screwing him over or something-”

“Exactly the opposite, actually.” Meg smiled harshly, then her face dropped again. “I _know_ that he’ll fall for you, and he’ll fall for you until he hits the bottom. And then you’ll leave, and maybe die on some stupid battlefield, and probably never come back. So just… don’t _fuck_ this up, okay?”

Dean kept his eyes firmly on her, showing her that he meant it, that he was making a promise here. “I won’t.”

"I'm the one who'll have to get him out of bed every morning and pick up the shattered pieces of his heart.” Meg explained, with a distance in her eyes that said she was imagining or remembering something. “And I don’t want to see him broken like that, you understand? Just… take care of him. He’s not as brave as he pretends to be.”

Dean nodded, swallowing tightly. “The last thing I want to do is hurt him.”

Meg faintly smiled, fondly this time, and it was one of the most genuine expressions Dean had ever seen on her.

“And that’s what’s going to hurt the most.”

Dean didn’t know what to say to that, so stood silently in the pathway, basking in the feeling of the hot sun on his skin. He knew it was going to hurt him more than he could imagine, leaving Cas to go fight somewhere, and realised again how important the man had become to him in such a short space of time.

Meg adjusted the tie of the trousers around her waist, just as Balthazar started shouting at them from a distance about getting back to work.

“Now let’s get you all wet and soapy, as a special present for my boy.” Meg grinned, all sarcastic wit again, and turned down the dirt road back to the house.

Dean followed, shaking his head, rolling up his sleeves to the elbows. It was going to be a fun afternoon.

 

By the time the evening rolled around, everyone had been working all day. They all ate their meal out in the garden, laughing and talking spiritedly despite how exhausted they all felt. Cas and Dean couldn’t stop sneaking glances at each other, always sharing smiles and jokes.

When Alfie started falling asleep on Balthazar’s lap, he took him to bed and the rest of them walked up to the gates of the house, bringing their chairs with them. They watched the sunset together, talking softly and lazily about anything that came to mind even though the air was still sticky with heat. The night was looking to be a humid one, and when Balthazar joined them again Hannah looked to be almost nodding off too. She resolutely stayed put though, insisting that she was going to stay awake until it was dark.

The night began to close in- quickly, as always, as that picture of stillness that dusk brought with it was broken. They waited until the birds had stopped singing and the insects started gathering, when Hannah was practically asleep in Anna’s lap, before all going off to bed.

Dean and Cas walked back to the barn house, still talking all the way, and locked up for the night. When they were both ready to sleep, the heavy awkwardness settled in- both of them were thinking about what had happened earlier in the day, but neither of them were brave enough to mention it again.

“Night, Cas,” Dean said, smiling softly.

“Good night, Dean,” Cas replied, not moving from where he was stood a metre away from Dean. “I hope you sleep well.”

“Yeah, you too,” Dean agreed. “Night.”

“Night,” Cas repeated, and scolded himself in his head.

He moved to the wooden steps, pressing his lips together in an uncomfortable smile, and slowly began walking up. Dean watched him the whole way, still staring when Cas stopped and turned back to face him at the threshold, and neither of them lost eye contact until Cas finally opened the door and stepped into his room.

When the door closed behind him, he felt the air rush out of his lungs and realised he’d been holding his breath, waiting for a moment or for _something_ to happen. Cas shook his head, trying to push all thoughts of Dean from his mind.

He stripped off his clothes, only keeping his underwear on- the night was still warm, and the humidity would suffocate him if he wore a t-shirt. He could hear Dean getting into bed beneath him, and stilling a few moments after.

The silence was stifling. Cas tried to lie under his sheet but couldn’t bear it, so got up to crack open a window a little more to let in fresh air. He heard Dean shift around downstairs, his bed making a muffled creaking sound through the floorboards. Quiet descended again, and Cas lay on his back with his limbs spread across the mattress, listening to his own soft breathing and the cicadas chirping outside.

He tried too hard to sleep, and only made himself feel more awake. Occasionally he could hear Dean turn over, and an urgent, nagging sensation pulsed at the back of his mind. As soon as Cas’s thoughts had turned to Dean, he knew he wasn’t going to sleep for a long time.

Cas thought about Dean’s soft smiles, about the way the summer made his cheeks rosy and gave his skin life, about the way he turned even more golden in the sunlight. He thought about the night they’d met in the hazy dance hall, the romance and excitement making everything seem unreal. He thought about the river and the way Dean’s eyes glittered in the moonlight, about the shimmer of water rippling over the strong muscles of his back and chest, and about the way their hands and legs had touched and sparked.

Cas remembered the way Dean had held him earlier, with gentle touches and caresses that had made him tremble. Dean had kissed him, and he had kissed Dean, and the thought of it made him smile so widely he had to turn on his side and curl up to stop himself from beating his fists on the mattress. The happiness grew in his chest, filling him up until he could hardly breathe, but nervousness took over again. He let his imagination run wild, picturing the long summer days turning into short and dark winter ones, where he could sit in Dean’s arms by the fire and share Dean’s heat at night, wrapped close together in bed. He imagined the war ending and Dean never having to leave, and his brothers coming home, and how they’d all get along and have Christmas dinner together.

Cas fantasised about years to come, how him and Dean could be together for the rest of their lives if they kept quiet, and how he’d go with Dean to America and meet his brother and family, and see the bright lights of New York. He dreamt of wide open prairies and crowded streets, of orchards in Europe and beaches in Cornwall, of taking in orphaned children and raising them together- and in every single one, Cas dreamt of Dean.

Dean and his lilting, foreign accent, his sun-kissed and freckled face, his bright green eyes, his large, warm hands, his bowed legs, his kindness and tenderness and humour and intelligence.

Cas thought about Dean kissing him again, about the way their hands would explore more and more and learn everything about each other, every ridge and curve of their bodies, about the way Dean would make love to him, and the way Dean would _love_ him. Love him until the ends of the earth, even when the summer ended and the gloom of England settled in again and until Dean realised Cas wasn’t the person he imagined, but still loved him anyway.

Cas dreamt, but never slept.

He sat up after what must have been an hour or so of tossing and turning and concocting wild and impossible stories, and had to remind himself that he was going to lose it all before he even knew it. The burning desire beneath his skin didn’t abate, however, and he spent a long time staring at the door. He stared at it until he’d memorised every notch in the tired wood for the hundredth time, and until the night grew colder.

When the longing in his chest grew so strong that he was gripping the sheets in his tense fingers, his blood rushing in his ears, Cas stood up. He threw his old and thin white night gown around his shoulders, leaving it unbuttoned all the way. Fashioned from the styles of decades before- almost Victorian- it hung loose around him and fell to his mid-calves, originally designed to keep him warm in the harsh winters. A tie usually kept it closed around his neck, but he didn’t bother to tighten the drawstring.

Walking as quietly as he could, he padded gently over to the door, and rested his hand on the cold metal handle.

All it would take would be one twist and a walk down the steps, and Dean would be there. There was only a floor between them, but Cas was frozen to the spot.

He pressed his forehead against the door, scrunching his eyes closed as he debated whether or not to go. But then he thought of Dean, and he thought of his lips again, and his smile, and the way they’d touched each other just barely, and Cas knew that what they had was real. It was tangible, and it was theirs. Their secret to keep. A thrill ran through his spine, and when it pulsed through his legs, he pushed the handle.

The door creaked slightly as it opened, breaking the heavy silence, and Cas drew in a breath before stepping forward. Every footstep made the floorboards beneath his bare feet creak, and he stiffened when he heard a rustle of sheets in the room. Another couple of steps brought him to the top of the stairs and the ‘balcony’, where he could see the whole of the barn’s interior.

Cas stopped and looked down, holding his hand to the hollow of his throat as if gripping a locket. Dean was still lying on his bed just below, but his eyes were wide open. He stared up at Cas for a few moments, neither of them moving, Cas’s other hand resting on the rail of the steps. From his viewpoint he could see every part of Dean- the way he was sprawled over the space of his bed, the sheets crumpled beneath his bare body, the arm that was bent above his head.

Cas inhaled shakily again, and moved down one stair, his eyes never leaving Dean’s. Dean, startled into attention by the movement, sat himself up with his hands and swung his legs over the side of the bed on Cas’s next step, still watching. His mouth was slightly parted as he followed the lines of Cas’s legs, up to the slip of abdomen, and to his exposed collar bones. The night shift had slipped off Cas’s shoulder without him noticing, baring the valleys of one side of his upper body to Dean, who stared hungrily.

Dean grew tenser with every step Cas took, until the final groan of the floor gave way to the muted thump of stone. Cas walked towards him, and Dean stood to meet him.

“Cas?” Dean said quietly, half reaching out to the other man.

“I…” Cas stopped, lost for words and lacking any excuse now he was right in front of Dean.

Dean’s hands slid to his forearms, holding him gently in his palms. “You okay?”

Cas stepped forwards, allowing himself to be held more comfortably.

“I don’t seem to be able to sleep. I… was wondering if you would, perhaps, like to…” Cas breathed in, “sleep with me? Tonight?”

Cas could feel the flush climbing into his cheeks, but looked into Dean’s eyes anyway. Dean was half-blinking, gazing at him with barely-concealed adoration, skimming over every inch of his bare skin.

“Yes,” Dean breathed, thumb stroking over Cas’s arm. “Yes, I’d like that a lot.”

Cas turned away, slipping his hold from Dean’s arm to his hand, guiding him slowly across the room. Dean followed as if in a trance, walking blindly through the dark, staying close. They went up to Cas’s room, closing the door behind them.

It had a low ceiling, the sloping roof on either side making the far wall that Cas’s bed was pushed against a triangle shape, and a couple of small windows were set above it. Cas didn’t seem to have many possessions- there was a desk on the right, with only a few items on it because half its surface was filled with a record player and a small box of vinyls. On the left was a wardrobe and chest of drawers, and a dusty, full-length mirror.

Dean steered Cas towards the bed and never lost contact, and as Dean sat down Cas could see the shy curiosity in his eyes.

With the gentle moonlight streaming in through the open window, Dean was reminded of that first night at the river. Castiel looked just as much like a vision now as he did in the water, with his white robe and flawless skin, and Dean almost believed he was dreaming. Everything between them had been so effortless and simple, and Dean knew it would have its consequences, but for now all that mattered was Cas in front of him, Cas in his arms, Cas in the quiet serenity of night, when it seemed that nothing could harm them.

“Take this off,” Dean said softly. He reached up to push the nightgown off Cas’s other shoulder, dragging it slowly off his arms.

When it pooled in a white heap on the floor, Dean lay back on the bed, pulling Cas with him. They settled onto the mattress side by side and facing each other, Dean opening his arms for Cas to shuffle into.

“Is this okay?” Dean asked, draping his arm over Cas’s waist.

Cas smiled. “This is perfect.”

Dean smiled back at him, staring into his dark blue eyes. He pressed his fingertips into Cas’s back, and Cas entangled their legs together. Relaxing into their positions, they lay quietly, watching each other breathe and melting into each other’s touch.

“Goodnight, Cas,” Dean whispered, stroking a line with his finger from Cas’s temple to behind his ear.

“Goodnight, Dean,” Cas replied, leaning forward to press a gentle, closed-mouth kiss to Dean’s lips before retreating again.

The intimacy was unlike anything Cas had ever known, and he felt something joyful and breath-taking unfold within him. Holding onto it like a bird trying to spread its wings and soar away, he wrapped it in his heart in gold colours.

Dean’s hand relaxed and Cas listened to the melody of his breathing, their bodies warm and close and entwined, before drifting into sleep.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for: [very badly written] Homophobia, Brief Violence, Sexual Content, Unsafe Sex (I spent a lot of time researching, and so many things break down condoms so! What can I do. They're both clean.)

~*~

 

_Unwatch'd, the garden bough shall sway,_

_The tender blossom flutter down,_

_Unloved, that beech will gather brown,_

_This maple burn itself away_

CI

 

 

By unspoken agreement, sleeping in Cas’s bed slipped into their routine as if it had always been there.

Discreet touches grew in frequency, too, and occasionally they found themselves pressed together; in Cas’s room, against a wall, in a field, wherever they didn’t have to fear being caught, their lips moving softly or passionately or harshly against each other.

Sometimes Cas would find himself thinking how ridiculous it was that he and Dean had become... whatever they were, within the space of a week. He wished he could say it felt wrong, that it felt like he should be taking it slowly or not getting involved at all, but he knew deep down in his heart that Dean belonged with him. Whenever he let himself believe that for too long, he felt like he was soaring through the sky, his soul bursting and alive with the feelings that had blossomed in him, but every time he had to stop himself.

He would close his eyes and picture himself dropping, falling, crumbling to ashes in that expanse of sky, because he knew he couldn’t dream like that.

He was going to lose Dean forever, and there was nothing he could do about it.

 

~*~

 

One morning, Dean awoke to the sight of Cas sat up in the bed, a worn and old picture book resting gently in his hands.

When he noticed Dean was awake, he quickly shut it, tucking it under the bed.

“Wh’was that?” Dean mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

“Nothing,” Cas said quickly, pulling the covers up a little more.

“Mmf, Cas,” Dean complained, putting his hand on Cas’s thigh under the sheet.

Cas sighed, turning his head towards the window, where bright morning sunlight fell in sharp, angular lines across his face.

“It’s a book,” Cas said slowly. “A book on planes. I’ve had it since I was a child.”

Dean shuffled around, propping himself up on his elbow to look at the other man.

“I would…” Cas started and stopped, swallowing. “I would like to join my brothers. In the Royal Air Force.”

Dean didn’t say anything for a long moment, letting Cas work through his thoughts.

“I just- I feel so useless, Dean,” Cas admitted, his voice tense and pained. “Everyone’s out there fighting for us, and I’m here pulling weeds. I feel like a coward.”

Dean sat up completely now, lifting his hand to cup Cas’s cheek.

“There’s nothing cowardly about not fightin’, Cas,” he soothed, rubbing his thumb over the man’s skin. “If anything, you’re braver than the rest of us for staying behind.”

Cas shook his head. “It’s not… it’s not all about fighting. I’ve _always_ wanted to fly, Dean. It’s always felt… right. I don’t know, it’s stupid.”

“Hey, no,” Dean said, entwining their fingers together. “It’s not stupid. Go for what you wanna do, man. I bet you’d be great at flying planes.”

Cas smiled softly, his eyes alight with warmth and affection. “Thank you, Dean.”

“Y’r’ w’lc’m’,” Dean quipped, the words muffled by the kiss he pressed to Cas’s soft lips.

Cas’s face scrunched with disgust under Dean’s palm. “Morning breath.”

Dean laughed, running his fingers teasingly up Cas’s ticklish sides, leaving more wet kisses on Cas’s neck instead.

“Dea-“ Cas tried to complain, but Dean stifled it with his hands. “Dean, no, we have work- and-“

Dean rolled over on top of him, straddling Cas’s hips and kissing him senseless, teasing open his lips so he could slip his tongue inside. They moved together for a few minutes, both basking in the pleased noises the other made, until Dean groaned and sat up, looking down at Cas below him. His eyes were hazy and his mouth was red and wet, his muscles loose and relaxed in the sheets, and he closed his eyes drowsily.

“What was that about work, Cas?”

“Sleep m’re imp’rtant,” Cas mumbled, running his hands slowly over Dean’s thighs.

Dean huffed a laugh out of his nose, then quickly climbed off the bed before Cas could grab him and pin him down to the mattress.

“Come on, Cas!” Dean shouted chirpily, knowing it would piss off the man on the bed. “Rise and shine, bright and early, just like you said- got lots to do.”

Dean thought he heard a mumbled “ _asshole_ ”, but Cas was melting out of bed, so he counted it as a success.

They went down to the main house, Cas still sleep-mussed and grouchy. Dean thought it was adorable, and spent the entirety of breakfast grinning at the other man, affection wiping away any inhibitions formed from fear of the others noticing them. He grabbed his things, thanked Anna for the breakfast with a jolly kiss to her cheek, and followed Cas out.

 

The cart trundled to a stop, Dean clambering off and patting Rosie on the face, holding a carrot up to her mouth for her to start munching on. Everyone packed off to do their different jobs, as always, Cas running off to buy a newspaper and his first pack of cigarettes in weeks, while Dean stayed behind to keep an eye on their things.

A group of four young women, around his age, were stood on the other side of the road just a little way down the street, glaring at Dean while they whispered to each other. He watched them talk, trying not to draw attention to himself while adjusting Rosie’s bridle.

A few minutes later, as Cas came out of the shop, the women started walking towards the cart.

Dean put his hands on his hips, cocking an eyebrow. “Is there a problem, ladies?”

“We were just wondering,” the woman at the front said, danger lacing the tone of her voice. “How are your crops faring?”

Dean’s eyebrows worried together, his confusion evident on his face as he looked at the blonde-haired leader of the group. “What’re you talking about?”

“It’s just, you know,” she continued, looking over Dean’s shoulder at Cas emerging from the shop.

Dean looked around, and his stomach dropped.

“I have _no_ idea what you’re talking about,” Dean replied, feigning complete ignorance to what they were implying.

“You know _exactly_ what we mean,” a younger woman with dark hair and blue eyes hissed from behind the leader, much harsher in her accusation.

“Hael, be quiet,” the leader scolded, fury burning in her eyes as she turned back to Dean. “You come here, and you damage our good, innocent men with your immorality and _sin_.”

Cas stepped up to Dean’s side, eyes squinted and cold.

“Hester?” he said, looking at the other three women too. Each of them looked slightly guilty, and Dean figured it was because they knew each other- it was much easier to get angry at a foreigner than one of your own. “What’s going on?”

“We were just asking Dean here about this year’s crop,” Hester bit out, ice in her voice that made Castiel flinch. “Has it failed yet?”

Castiel, more confused than ever, looked to Dean. “Hester, I don’t understand- what’s gotten into you?”

“What’s gotten into _me_?” Hester stepped closer to Cas, clenching her jaw in anger. “What’s gotten into _you_ , Castiel? Laying with this… this _queer_.”

The word hit Cas like a shot in the chest, and suddenly the confrontation made sense.

“Hester, what are you-“

“Don’t act like you’re not,” she spat, glancing with disgust back at Dean. “As soon as you arrived here, at that dance, you were corrupting Castiel with your ideas and mind games.”

“Whoa, whoa, okay, easy,” Dean placated, trying to end this quickly. “Me and Cas? We’re friends, okay? I’m not a fucking _queer_.”

The words stung Cas, but he hid it.

“Yes, _friends_ ,” Hester began, hands clenching at her sides. “Just as I’m sure you’ve been _friends_ with many other men.”

“Hester, that’s _enough_!” Cas threatened, voice low to try not to attract unwanted interest as he walked closer.

Hester, without warning, threw her fist out and punched Cas in the jaw.

“ _Jesus_ , lady!” Dean shouted, putting his hand out and stepping in front of Cas, shielding him as he landed on the hard ground.

They were drawing attention from the local people now, and Dean felt a swell of fear ripple through his chest. They had to go before this got out of hand.

“Come on, Cas,” he said, helping Cas stand and pushing him up onto the cart, Cas holding his throbbing face in his hand.

The others had finished what they were doing, then, all of them running to their carriage to check if Cas was alright.

“What the fuck are you doing, Hester?” Balthazar said as he approached, everyone else packing themselves into the cart.

“Telling the truth,” Hester answered. “It’s what we’ve all been thinking.”

“Yeah, I _heard_ ,” Balthazar hissed. “I understand that you’re angry about your brother conscientiously objecting and pissing off to wherever he is now, and that you’re tired, and afraid, but randomly attacking people you don’t know for things you have zero proof that they’ve done _isn’t_ the way to deal with your loss.”

Hester looked taken aback, a darkness settling over her eyes.

“You’re only embarrassing yourself.” Balthazar climbed in to the cart, nudging Rosie to move and pull the carriage, watching Hester shoot him one more glare before the huddle of women backed away and grew smaller as they disappeared in to the distance.

“You okay, Cassie?” he called over his shoulder, and the others turned their eyes to the young man.

“Yes,” Castiel sighed, hunching his shoulders as a gloom settled over him.

“Good,” Balthazar said, edging Rosie on faster towards home.

 

The atmosphere of the household was tense when they got back, and after a while Dean couldn’t take the stifling air in every room and the glances everyone was sneaking him.

He burst up from his seat at the lunch table, pacing quickly out of the room, Cas calling out a gentle “ _Dean_ -“ as he left, but it didn’t stop him. Dean heard the scrape of a chair as everyone watched him leave, the silence suffocating him. He knew Cas was following him, and an ache pulsed in his forehead.

They ended up in the small copse of trees just beyond the open, dusty space on one side of the barn house.

Dean breathed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose and rubbing his eyes. Cas was silent behind him, waiting for him to say something.

Truthfully, Dean had no idea what to say. Everything that Hester and the other women had said- it was a cold and crushing reminder of the world that he and Cas were living in. People wouldn’t accept them, would _never_ accept them.

Dark, twisting thoughts began to creep into his mind, whispering threats to him and making him imagine scene after scene of horrible, tragic endings to his and Cas’s story. Ice settled in his chest.

Cas had to live here. Dean could waltz in without a care in the world, leaving whatever impression he wanted, and then he’d be gone without consequence. Cas had to _live_ here. If he tarnished Cas’s image in other people’s minds, Cas would have to leave his family, his home, his life. Dean could destroy everything that Cas had- even ruin the livelihoods of the people he loved- and all for his own selfish feelings.

The next thought that stroked the corners of his brain made his body freeze and his mind fill with terror.

_What if people got violent?_

“Dean?” Cas finally said, his voice gentle and dripping with concern.

Dean’s soul shattered. He squeezed his eyes shut, clenching his jaw and swallowing tightly.

“I…” he cleared his throat, still turned away from the other man. “I can’t do this, Cas.”

Cas stared at Dean’s back, his breath catching. “What…?”

Dean swayed on the spot, putting one hand on his hip as he turned around, his face… unnervingly _empty_. No emotions were showing in his expression.

“We can’t...” Dean began again, gesturing between them both. “I can’t do it. I won’t.”

Something inside Cas snapped in two. All he could keep repeating was the word “ _no_ ”, over and over in his head, all the thoughts and doubts that he’d pushed to the back of his mind bursting free from their cages.

_He’s just playing you._

_You’re not good enough._

_His heart isn’t in it._

The air in Cas’s lungs was punched out of his body, tears springing to his eyes as he realised what was happening.

“You don’t…” he swallowed. “You don’t have to do this, Dean. This- _us_ \- not if you don’t want to.”

Dean’s face twitched slightly, his blank expression showing the barest of cracks.

“Just- why didn’t you tell me?” Cas asked, feeling the tears spill over his cheeks, his tone desperate for this one answer at least. “Why would you let me think that you felt something… _more_ for me?”

Dean’s eyebrows furrowed together.

“That’s what this is about, yes?” Cas continued, his heart breaking with every word. He understood now why Dean didn’t want this. Because Cas was meaningless, taking too long to do more than kissing, and Dean just wanted a warm body to fuck whenever he pleased until he was gone and found someone else to replace Cas.

He was too devastated to be angry.

“We can’t have anything more than- just sex. Because you’re not...” his face tensed and twitched, the slur spitting from his trembling lips, “a _queer_ , right.”

Dean’s face suddenly shifted, eyes growing wide with realisation. He stepped closer without meaning to, and almost tripped over his feet.

“Cas, no-“ Dean started, suddenly desperate. “ _God_ no, that’s not what I meant. I-”

Cas looked up, completely lost, his eyes bloodshot and wet. “What?”

“Of course I have… feelings for you,” Dean continued, _begging_ Cas to understand him despite his difficulty with words. “I just… I can’t put you in danger. I _won’t_ put you in danger.”

Cas’s eyes widened. “Oh, no, Dean, I-“ He swallowed tightly. “Hester won’t do anything. And if she did?” Cas shrugged, wiping a tear away with the back of his hand. “I wouldn’t care.” 

Cas watched as a tiny spark of hope lit up Dean’s distraught eyes.

“You’d be with me anyway?” Dean breathed, his whole body swayed towards Castiel’s.

“Of course,” Castiel said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, eyes searching Dean’s face. “Absolutely and unquestionably.”

Dean’s breath caught in his chest, and he was lost in Cas’s deep stare.

“Jesus Christ,” Cas laughed with disbelief, blinking the tears from his eyes. “I thought you were saying that you didn’t _want_ to be with me-“

Dean cut him off, surging forward and pushing him up against the trunk of a tree at his back.

Cas was stunned, Dean’s lips suddenly against his, and- _wow_ , this had been a wild day. Dean swiped his tongue along the crease of Cas’s lips, pressing inside, and Cas opened up to him, letting him delve deeper until they knew nothing but each other.

When they broke away, Cas’s head was swimming.

“Did that feel like I don’t _want_ to be with you?” Dean said, panting.

Cas closed his eyes and just focused on breathing, trying to get his head around everything that had just happened.

“I’m in this, Cas,” Dean breathed, pressing their foreheads together. “In this with you.”

Cas nodded, understanding that Dean had been stupidly pushing him away in a misguided attempt to protect him. “For as long as we have.”

Then they were kissing again, Cas sliding down the tree until he was sat between two of its roots, legs spread out and Dean straddling him, pressing their crotches together.

Something sparked between them, born of the adrenaline and fear of almost losing each other to stupid miscommunications, and Cas rolled his hips up to meet Dean’s. Dean mouthed along Cas’s jaw, peppering soft kisses to the bruising skin, and pressed himself down to grind the bulges of his and Cas’s trousers together, drawing a moan out of the other man.

Despite it being the first time they’d done anything more than a little heated kissing and innocent frottage with each other, the movements came naturally.

A few minutes’ worth of Dean making figure-eight motions with his hips, kissing Cas senseless, Cas doing the same in return, had them both on the edge scarily quickly. Neither of them cared, and neither of them were embarrassed. All that mattered was the hot press of their bodies, the teasing slips of skin that made it somehow even hotter to be fully clothed, and the feelings that flowed between them.

Dean began panting, groaning into Cas’s mouth, only able to kiss him sloppily. Cas rode out the waves of pleasure, moving with Dean’s rhythm, sure that the fire in his belly was going to set him alight at any moment. He chased his pleasure, dragging his nails over Dean’s skin, pulling him closer until they both fell over the edge, whimpering and panting into each other’s mouths.

Dean started laughing, still slightly out of breath, and Cas looked up at him with a scowl which didn’t have quite its intended effect when he looked so sated and fucked-out.

“We just made out like teenagers under a goddamn tree,” he laughed, wiping at his eyes. “ _And_ we came in our pants.”

“In all fairness, we aren’t much older than teenagers,” Cas said, running his hands up Dean’s sides, gripping his shirt.

Dean grinned, then leant down and pushed their lips together, softly claiming Cas’s mouth with his own.

“Come on,” he said, backing up and grimacing as he stood, offering a hand out to Cas. “Let’s clean up, then finish our lunch- I’m fuckin’ _hungry_.”

Cas sighed, but smiled softly as he took Dean’s hand- that is, until he felt the unpleasant wetness that was cooling in his underwear, looking down to see the wet patch on his crotch.

“This is disgusting,” Cas said, waddling his way back towards the barn, a red blush high on his cheeks. “You’re disgusting.”

Dean laughed, the sound deep and rumbling from inside his belly, not being quite as obvious as Cas in the way he was walking.

“It was worth it, though?” he asked, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

Cas rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t stop the smile from growing on his face as soon as he turned to the door of the barn, opening it and slipping inside as quickly as possible. He stormed off upstairs, purposefully dramatically, hoping that nobody would notice his change of clothes.

Dean was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs, a gummy smile fixed on his face.

“So,” he said, stroking Cas’s arm. “Does this mean grinding is now on our list of _approved acts_?”

 

~*~

 

Cas awoke with a start, jumping violently, heart thumping, and heard the sheets rustle beside him. Dean reached up to tug on his front, trying to pull him back down to the bed. It took a few long seconds for Cas to realise why he’d woken.

In the distance, echoing eerily through the valleys from the village, a siren wailed.

Long and loud, it barely carried to them on the farm, but it was enough to set Cas’s heart beating twice its normal speed. He turned to Dean, shaking the still-sleeping man until he groaned and tried to shove him away.

“Go –way, Cas,” Dean mumbled, burying his face in his pillow.

“Dean!” Cas hissed, shaking him more. “ _Dean_!”

“Jesus, _what_ , Cas?” Dean grumbled, blinking up at the man rudely waking him.

But when Dean looked, he was instantly wide awake. Cas’s eyes were round, filled with fear, and he was gripping the sheet in a white-knuckled grip with one hand. All colour had drained from his face, and his eyes flicked to the black outside.

Without hesitation, Cas sprung up from the bed and slammed the window shut.

“The sirens, Dean, it’s-“ Cas explained, frantically searching the room for his clothes. “An air-raid. Get _up_!”

Dean’s heart hammered and he threw back the covers, now aware of the siren in the distance, and started pulling on his pants and shirt.

“It doesn’t happen in the country, we’re not supposed to-“ Cas stopped, running a hand through his hair.

Dean stepped closer to him, looking down to see that Cas’s hands were trembling. He was breathing heavily, bordering on hyperventilating, so Dean clasped their hands together and made the other man stop for a moment.

“Cas, it’s okay, we’re okay,” Dean soothed, but it didn’t seem to do much. “Just- what do we have to do?”

Cas swallowed and nodded, finally meeting Dean’s eyes. “Go to the shelter, in the garden.”

“Okay,” Dean said, and kissed Cas’s knuckles. “Then let’s go to the shelter.”

A succession of sharp, loud knocks shook through the barn, and both their heads darted sideways to look at the door.

“It’ll be someone from the house,” Cas explained, suddenly falling to his knees beside the bed and reaching underneath, grabbing a little wooden box that Dean had never seen before and tucking it under his arm. “Go down and let them in, Dean- they can’t see us both up here.”

Dean nodded once, used to taking orders, and flew down the rickety steps, snatching up his helmet as he passed. He unbolted the heavy door, opening it to the panicking face of Anna, who was clutching a cloth bag over her shoulder.

“Are you both here?” she asked, trying to look past Dean into the room.

“Yeah, Cas is just coming,” Dean explained, trying to keep calm.

The sirens carried on.

“That’s good, we’re all here, that’s…” Anna breathed and nodded, waiting agitatedly on the doorstep.

Cas came down the stairs, more dressed now but still looking like a mess, and quickly paced towards them. He grabbed their coats on the way out, and they both threw on their boots without bothering to tie them.

“Alfie’s asking for you, Castiel,” Anna said, taking a few steps away as they all left the barn house.

“Are they all inside?” Cas asked urgently, looking straight at the woman.

Anna nodded. Cas slammed the door behind him then they all ran around the barn house, beyond the house, and through the back garden. They came to the shelter, its door closed, the whole of it looking like little more than a lump of grass in the blackness.

They could all mutedly hear crying from inside- a child crying- and Cas’s stomach twisted. Dean grabbed his upper arm, offering silent support. Anna knocked urgently on the metal door, which swung open to reveal the inside. They entered without preamble, and someone closed the door behind them.

It was cramped, especially in the semi-darkness, only a small oil lamp lit and hanging from the low roof. It smelled like soil and damp. There were only three bunk beds, pressed flush against each wall, and a little cupboard- but that was the extent of the furniture. Dean was just glad he didn’t get claustrophobic easily. Balthazar was sat on one tiny bunk bed, gripping Hannah’s hand while she leant into him, his mouth set in a grim line. Charlie was on another bed’s top bunk, wringing her hands together, and Meg sat below, a squirming Alfie in her arms.

As soon as the little boy saw Cas, he started crying even louder, reaching out for the young man to pick him up. Fat tears streamed down his red cheeks, and Meg hastily handed him over when Cas rushed towards them.

Cas closed his eyes and breathed shakily in relief, clutching Alfie in his blanket close to his chest, cradling his head under his chin. He uttered gentle shushes to the four-year-old’s head, pressing kisses to the crown of his hair and bobbing up and down.

Dean swiped a hand down his face and breathed fully for the first time in five minutes, letting the stuffy air fill his lungs. Alfie’s cries turned first to sobs then to snuffling gasps, Cas still gripping him tightly. Dean walked over to the bed opposite the door and against the far wall, collapsing onto its uncomfortable mattress. Anna went over to the small collection of supplies, picking up a hip flask in trembling fingers and taking a swig from it, then sat down next to Meg.

A heavy silence fell over the shelter, all of them listening to the siren still howling, keeping quiet until it faded out into nothing. Alfie sniffled into the skin of Castiel’s neck and smeared snot across his shirt, but Cas couldn’t find it in himself to care. The boy had two bright pink blotches on his cheeks and his hair was a mess, and his little fist was clenched in Cas’s shirt.

Castiel came to sit thigh to thigh with Dean, who rubbed Cas’s back for a few moments then reluctantly pulled away.

All that was left to do was wait for the all clear.

Charlie distracted herself with a comic and Hannah just sat with Balthazar, her eyes alert but weary. Dean checked his watch- 2am. Anna and Balthazar began talking almost inaudibly, but the shelter was so small everyone could hear everyone.

After about ten minutes, Alfie lifted his head and looked up at Cas, who offered him a watery smile.

“Are they dropping bombs, Cassie?” he asked, and everyone stopped what they were doing to look at the child.

“I don’t know Alf,” Cas said, rubbing circles into the small, blanket-covered back. “Maybe.”

Alfie nodded, vague acceptance crossing his face. “Are we going to die?”

Cas flinched, but managed to compose himself quickly. “No. We’re safe in here. I promise.”

Alfie seemed appeased by that, and reached out his chubby arm to start playing with the buttons on Dean’s shirt. Dean smiled shakily at Cas over the child’s head, and saw the aching fear that glazed over Cas’s eyes. Even the thought of the children being hurt was… too much to bear.

There was a long period where nothing seemed to be happening, and although Balthazar got up and offered them all food or drink, none of them could stomach much. Everyone had some water- especially as the space was getting more and more sticky from lack of good ventilation- and settled back into whatever calming activity they’d been doing. Dean wanted nothing more than to reach over and hold Cas in his arms, protect him, but he couldn’t, and it made him want to scream.

Alfie had exhausted himself crying so much that he fell asleep draped over Cas’s front an hour after they’d come inside, but Cas refused to lie him on the bed no matter how much Anna nagged. Meg started a game of cards with Charlie and Balthazar, but they weren’t exactly in the best frame of mind to play very well. It was a distraction, though- something to occupy their time.

At nearly quarter past three, a low droning noise began, quiet and looming, then grew louder and closer by the second, and everyone froze. All looking up to the corrugated ceiling and holding their breaths, they heard it pass over them and were plunged into overwhelming silence again.

Only seconds later, a slight rumble shook through the ground, making the lamp and their tin cans and water bottles tremble. Anna squeezed her eyes shut, drawing Hannah closer, and murmured under her breath.

The sound of the explosion came next. It was muffled, a distance away, but it was there and it was _real_. Alfie stirred against Cas’s chest, and Dean reached out to hold his small hand reassuringly.

Again there was silence. Thick, oppressive silence that made the shelter seem even more confined. All of them were looking up except Alfie, Hannah, and Anna, waiting for something- _anything_ \- to happen. Waiting for what could be their deaths.

No warning drone flew over their heads this time, as another, closer explosion boomed and shook the walls. Hannah whimpered, digging her face into Anna’s nightdress.

They waited.

Dean looked at Cas, memorising the sharp lines of his profile for the hundredth time, and suddenly couldn’t breathe out.

Dean thought about losing Cas. Dean imagined the planes flying over them dropping explosives on their little shelter, blowing them to pieces in a split second. He imagined Cas being captured and taken from him, being shot, anything morbid and horrifying that sprung to mind, and a part of him so huge he hadn’t realised it was there almost snapped in two, almost tore him apart.

He couldn’t lose Cas. He just couldn’t.

Only able to hear his own heartbeat and the rush of blood in his ears, Dean found himself feeling genuinely, distressingly _frightened_ for the first time in a while.

He was afraid of what could happen, of what _would_ happen, and when it hit him- when he identified the part of himself that had been growing and dividing and letting in parts of another person- it was like putting a name to a face. It had been swelling all along, blooming and opening in his heart, but he hadn’t realised just how big it was until he thought about the very real possibility of losing it.

Dean realised that half his heart belonged to Cas, at the exact moment the walls and ground began to quake.

The explosion was so close it was almost deafening- Hannah’s horrific scream was drowned out by the sheer volume of it. Cas could feel Alfie sobbing against him again, and curved his back over the boy, protecting him as much as he possibly could.

Dean grabbed Cas’s elbow- the only thing he could reach- shut his eyes tight, and thought of Sam.

The lamp fell from its hook, hitting the floor and plunging them into blackness.

The blast disturbed the foundations of their shelter, and Cas could feel the dirt and soil sprinkling onto his back and the exposed skin of his neck. There was a thud from nearby, then the smaller noises of tins hitting the ground and a table being knocked over, and Hannah still screaming.

One of the sheets of steel above their heads slipped out of place with the grating screech and grind of metal on metal, and a shower of earth rained down on them again.

Cas felt Dean’s arms wrap tight around him and the bundle of blankets, and an unexpected sob escaped Castiel’s lips.

The strong shocks continued all around them, but then began to lessen in intensity, and suddenly there was quiet again.

All of their ears were ringing, and Dean could hear someone get up to fiddle with the lamp, but everyone else stayed perfectly still.

They waited for a long time, but no more sounds came.

When they finally managed to breathe again and the light was put up, everyone was pale and terrified. Cas looked up to see that Charlie had thrown herself off the top bunk, landing in a heap on the ground, but was unharmed apart from a few bruises. A cough escaped his throat, and he shook the worst of the dirt off his back. Dean let go of him, and Anna helped Charlie to her feet. Cas loosened his grip on Alfie, pulling him away and revealing his flushed face, his little cheeks lined with tears.

They were alright, though, and that’s what mattered.

Dean could see everyone looking to the door as if something would come bursting through, but soon realised they were all thinking about the house and wondering if they’d just lost their only home.

“Is everyone okay?” Balthazar asked, brushing off his shoulders.

A small chorus of affirmatives sparked and died in the room. Cas looked up to the low ceiling, scrutinising the way the metal sheets had bent and slid out of position, licking his lips as he assessed the damage. A few bolts and screws had obviously fallen out- they’d have to look for them later.

“Castiel, Dean, come away from there,” Anna said, looking at the ceiling as if she didn’t trust it not to cave in at any moment.

Neither of them protested, and headed over to the other, now very cramped space. When Cas adjusted Alfie in his arms, Dean looked at the man’s dirty palms and noticed several lines of blood that ran across the back of his hand and his fingertips, staining Alfie’s blanket red.

“Cas, you’re bleeding,” Dean said, alarmed.

Cas’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, until he looked down to where Dean’s gaze was focused. Dean was right- there were smears of blood drying across his hand, though he didn’t know where it was coming from. Anna lifted her arms, pulling Alfie onto her lap without much fuss on the child’s part, surprisingly. Dean stepped up to Cas, gently raising his injured hand to look at it.

Dean pushed Cas’s sleeve up as far as it would go, and saw the small but reasonably deep gash where his hand met his wrist.

“I didn’t even notice,” Cas said, staring at the wound, perplexed. “It was probably one of those screws being pushed out with the force of the...”

Dean nodded in agreement, then looked behind him to see Balthazar already digging amongst their belongings for a small tin. Inside were a few bandages and other medical items, but Dean grabbed the hip flask before any of them.

“This is gonna sting,” he warned, undoing the top of the container.

Dean poured a splash of the alcohol over the cut, and Cas hissed but quickly quieted again. Balthazar took the flask back and handed Dean a small roll of bandage, who began soothingly wrapping it around the injured wrist and wiping away as much of the blood as he could.

“That’ll have to do for now,” Dean said, mouth set in a firm line. “You okay?”

“Yes, it’s fine,” Cas said, flexing his fingers. “Thank you, Dean.”

Dean smiled weakly at him, and Cas found it difficult to return more than a grimace.

Hannah was looking slightly shell-shocked, hands clenched on her small knees, and Charlie came over to wrap her arms around the girl. Balthazar was still looking nervously up and down over and over, and Meg sat with her arms crossed, tension in her shoulders- anyone who knew her could see that she was more distressed than she was letting on.

They all sat down again, having some water but nothing more. They waited, constantly on edge, for any other sounds to filter through to them, but there was nothing. Nobody bothered attempting to sleep- the fear was still ripe and painful, and they couldn’t let themselves be off guard for more than a few minutes at a time. Nor did they bother with cards, or any other games. Even Alfie stayed awake, owlish eyes flicking around the space, his small fists holding Cas’s shirt tight. At one point, when Cas needed to rest his arms, Alfie requested that Dean hold him in the meantime, and a swell of joy and pride burst open in the American’s chest.

Dean checked his watch again. Half past four. The sun would be rising soon, and they’d been in the shelter for almost three hours. They were some of the longest hours of Dean’s life.

He couldn’t stop thinking about Cas, again, and the thoughts of losing him were making Dean shudder so much that Cas ended up handing him his coat, mistaking it for shivering. They sat next to each other, thighs pressed lightly together, shoulders touching. It helped to ground Dean, and stop him from feeling like he was being buried alive in the tiny shelter.

An hour passed, and Alfie began to drift off from exhaustion. There had been no sound of a further attack, and they just had to hope that they were safe.

At five past five, the breaths they’d been holding were finally released. The all-clear siren built louder and louder with every additional tone, relieving yet terrifying in the near-darkness of their cramped shelter. Nobody knew what they’d see when they went outside.

Everyone began gathering their meagre collection of belongings, Cas pulling his unexplained wooden box from under his mattress, and waited. Anna unbolted the door, and was the first outside. They each stepped out into the deliciously fresh air, but realised very quickly that it wasn’t as fresh as it seemed- there was the bitter tang of smoke and explosives, heavy and drifting on the weak breeze. The first signs of sunlight had started to emerge on the horizon, and the morning was cold as they clambered out from the muddy hole.

Almost crying in relief, Anna looked in front of her.

“The house and barn are there,” she said, mentally ticking them off her list.

Dean held Alfie closer to himself, but shifted him enough that he could see the upright buildings. They all walked to the gate, hoping they’d be able to see more from there.

Cas’s bloody hand raised to cover his mouth, but all Dean could think about was the fact that they were alive, and Cas was here, in the lowlight of the hazy morning, standing next to him. One field over, but disturbingly close to the house in perspective of the landscape, a smoking, charred crater was left in the land. A quarter of the field and all its crops had been obliterated, a few small fires still littering the area. Their embers glowed and flickered in the mist of the morning, and Dean couldn’t draw his eyes away.

The grey and black smoke floated towards them, and the small family stood on the hill, watching with haunted eyes.

“It’s going to cost us,” Balthazar said, his face ashen.

“It doesn’t matter,” Anna reprimanded, gripping Hannah’s hand. “We’re safe. It doesn’t matter.”

Cas laid his hand on her back, offering some kind of small comfort.

They watched the embers fade until only ash remained.

When they’d walked back to the house, Dean put Alfie down to bed, and Hannah wearily stumbled back to her own. Everyone else waited while Anna and Charlie bicycled to the village, but they were back within fifteen minutes.

“Hael Newman’s parents,” Charlie gasped as she clambered off her bike, shakily half-running towards them. “They’re dead.”

Balthazar’s hand raised to his mouth, and Meg and Cas drew closer together. Dean watched the small family take in the news, seeing Anna’s face turn ashen.

“Gail’s brother is injured,” Charlie continued, and Cas placed his hand over his heart. “We don’t know how bad it is. They’ve taken him to the hospital in the city.”

“Shit,” Meg muttered under her breath, clenching her jaw and looking down.

“Anything else?” Cas asked quietly, dreading the answer.

“No.” Anna answered. “The post office was damaged, but it’s still upright. Half of Plymouth Street is gone. We can only be thankful that everyone who lives along there was in the shelter.”

Cas nodded slowly, and Dean spent a long few seconds staring at his profile, wondering again; _what if Cas lived there_ , _what if the pilots of those planes dropped their bombs five seconds earlier, or later_. _What if he’d lost him._

“Let’s go back inside, come on.” Balthazar steered them all out of the chilled, dewy morning, away from the reminders of the night. “I think I could do with some tea.”

Anna nodded and pressed herself close to Balthazar’s side, allowing him to wrap his arm around her shoulders.

“I’m, uh,” Dean stuttered, pointing towards the barn house. “I’ll skip, I think.”

“Me too,” Cas spoke up from behind him, pulling out of a hug with Meg. “It’s been a long night.”

Balthazar nodded, and Charlie smiled tightly, following the others inside.

Cas looked at Dean for a moment, then turned to walk along the damp path, hunching his shoulders to stay warm. Dean jogged after him and they walked together, Dean’s hands itching to orientate himself with Cas’s touch, both of them bound within a shell of noises; their pacing footsteps, their heavy breaths, the birds’ mournful songs.

Cas reached the door, unlocking it with pale and cold fingers, and stepped into the comforting sight of his home.

He heard the door close softly behind him, and then Dean was wrapped around him, holding him so closely that he could barely breathe. Cas stood, stunned, for a moment, then raised his own arms to Dean’s back and melted into his touch. Cas felt the other man’s harsh breaths against his neck and could almost feel the sob that was growing in Dean’s chest, choking him and begging to be released. Dean swallowed it.

“Fuck.” Dean grabbed at Cas’s back, clinging onto him, feeling as though if he let go he would float away. “Fuck, _Cas_.”

“It’s okay, Dean,” Cas whispered to his shoulder, running his fingers through Dean’s hair. “We’re okay.”

Something fragile inside Dean broke, like a tidal wave crashing on peaceful shores. He drew away from Cas, and Cas let him, gripping on to the sides of Dean’s jacket.

Dean stared at Cas’s face, lips parted and breathing shakily, and Cas looked back at him with concern. Dean’s hands, trembling with fear and overwhelming emotion, lifted to Cas’s jaw and lingered just shy of making contact.

A long minute passed where they did nothing but stare in each other’s eyes.

Cas took one of Dean’s hands in his own, turning his head to press a kiss to the soft palm, and heard Dean release a long breath.

“Don’t leave me, Cas.” Dean pleaded, his tone so childlike and desperate it was disquieting, alien on his face. “Please don’t leave me.”

Cas placed Dean’s palms on his face, forcing Dean to hold him, and closed his eyes.

“I won’t.” Cas soothed, stroking his thumbs over Dean’s wrists, feeling the frantic pulse beneath his own. “I promise, Dean.”

Dean nodded, a tear dripping down his cheek, and leaned in.

He was still shaky, fear and anxiety pulling his muscles tight, but Cas was warm, and Cas was beautiful, and Cas wasn’t going to leave him. The kiss was slow, but transformed into something strong, something desperate and needy.

While the panic had begun to subside, heat and a drawn-out yearning swelled in its place, and Dean kissed Cas as if they’d never kiss again.

Cas’s breath was hot and sweet, overwhelming in its intensity, and Dean wanted to get lost in the feeling of their tongues together, the whine he drew from Cas’s lungs when he bit softly on his bottom lip, the cool press of Cas’s fingertips to the bare skin of his back. Dean breathed in everything that Cas was, swaddling himself in Cas’s care, his attention, his touch.

A fire was kindled in their bellies, growing stronger by the second, and by the time Dean’s hands had stopped shaking Cas had already scraped lines down Dean’s back with his fingernails.

They panted into each other’s mouths, clinging to one another, dipping in for more soft kisses. Dean pressed their foreheads together, and tried to come up with words.

“I need…” Dean started, pushing another crushing kiss to Cas’s lips. “Need…”

“Tell me,” Cas whispered, gripping the hair at the base of Dean’s neck and beginning to mouth along Dean’s jaw. “Tell me.”

“Need… this,” Dean breathed, tipping his head back to let Cas nip at his throat. A shiver ran through his spine and he pressed closer, slotting his thigh between Cas’s and pressing up until the man gasped against the skin of his neck. “Fuck, _Cas_ …”

“I’m here.” Cas splayed his palm over the muscles of Dean’s chest, rising again to kiss his spit-slick lips. “I’m right here, Dean. Tell me what you need.”

Dean slowed his movements, keeping his hands on Cas’s flushed face, his thumbs smoothing the jut of Cas’s cheekbones, unable to resist another open-mouthed kiss.

They parted, gasping, energy and lightning sparking alongside something soft and calming between them. They fit, they _worked_ , and that’s all that Dean knew- that, in the middle of a war-torn world, they were, somehow, _right_. And he wasn’t going to let that leave him, not like every other person who’d ever meant anything to him.

Castiel squeezed Dean’s forearms, holding them as they cradled his face, looking at Dean as if nothing and nobody else existed.

“I need…” Dean closed his eyes. “ _You_ , Cas.”

And with that, the cord Dean had kept so tightly strung finally snapped.

“I need you,” he repeated, and kissed Cas again, sweetly, passionately, stressing his words with his touch.

Cas pulled away slightly, just enough to stop the kiss, his eyes fluttering open. He licked his parted lips, chasing the taste of _Dean_ , exhaling tremulously. His eyes were dark and bright all at once, only rings of deep midnight blue surrounding his blown pupils.

They stopped, and Cas traced the lines of Dean’s face with his eyes, following his throat when he swallowed, all the way down past his chest and to his feet.

“Okay,” Cas said quietly, bringing Dean’s hands away from his face to hold them between them. He nodded slowly, looking down to the ground. “Okay.”

Dean waited for blue eyes to meet his gaze, and saw only certainty when they did.

Cas drew Dean along by his uninjured hand, just as he’d done all those days ago- days that felt like centuries. He pulled Dean to the old steps, and they began to climb, never once losing contact. Everything seemed to move slowly, as if through water, as if they were the only two left in the world.

Castiel’s room smelled like him, and Dean almost broke down in tears again.

With the shutters and curtains still closed, the room was dim and only lit by the blue-white haze of morning that seeped through the cracks in the windows. It didn’t matter. Dean pulled the door shut behind him, slipped off his shoes, and followed Cas to the centre of the small room.

As soon as his hands were back on Cas’s hips, they were kissing again, slow and long and sensual. Cas tugged at the hem of his shirt, shucking it up enough to have access to the slip of skin across his stomach, and spent a moment revelling in the warmth. Button by button, he undid Dean’s shirt, and Dean repaid the favour.

Dean slipped his arms out of the sleeves, letting the shirt fall in a heap on the floor, and surged forward to join his and Cas’s bare chests. He groaned when Cas pressed the flat of his palm to Dean’s crotch, massaging him through his pants.

Cas’s pained hiss into Dean’s open mouth broke the moment, and Dean looked down to the hand he’d neglected to clean or look after since they’d come back. They walked over to the bed, and Dean took a cloth from Cas’s nightstand, then went downstairs to quickly fetch a small bowl of water.

The bandages were stained and they would change them later, but for now Dean sat with Cas on the bed, wiping away the thin trails of blood that had dried across his wrist and hand. When he was finished and the water was tinged pink, he carefully dried Cas’s hand with his shirt and murmured kisses to his knuckles.

“Be careful with it,” Dean said affectionately, leaning closer.

Cas took him in again.

Dean delved his tongue into the heat of Cas’s mouth effortlessly, pressing and sliding and sucking whenever he could, biting on Cas’s thick lips. Cas sank back to the bed, his lips still locked with Dean’s, his fingers tangled in Dean’s hair. Dean straddled Cas’s lap, grinding down on the bulge in his trousers, and smothered the moan that escaped Cas’s mouth with his own.

“Thought about… losing you,” Dean admitted between kisses, marking a path down the column of Cas’s throat, lost in the feeling of Cas’s nails on his scalp. “Thought… what if you…”

Cas panted while Dean left dark, wet marks lower and lower, across his collar bones, over the peaks of his chest.

“What if… I lost you?” Dean said as he closed his mouth around Cas’s right nipple, flicking his tongue over the sensitive nub. Cas gasped, hands exploring the planes of Dean’s back. “I can’t lose you, Cas.”

“You won’t,” Cas promised quickly, breathlessly- effortlessly. He knew he would keep his promise as long as it was in his power. “And I… I _can’t_ … lose you either, Dean.”

Dean crawled up to kiss Cas’s mouth again, slowly running his hands down every dip and curve of Cas’s chest, over his abdominals, to the softer area of his stomach. Cas huffed and shivered, arousal sending needy messages to his brain, his body begging him to do _something_.

“Just say yes,” Dean said, breathing the words into Cas’s lungs. “Say yes, and I’ll give you everything.”

Cas’s brain short-circuited, and another full-body shiver quaked through him.

“Yes,” Cas whispered, craning his neck up to kiss Dean’s lips back, their noses bumping clumsily. “All of me. _Yes_.”

Dean’s hands were on him then- along his sides, tugging on his hair, circling his nipples, stroking his cheeks, down to the buttons of his fly. One by one, he undid them- Cas lifted his hips to allow Dean to slip the trousers down his legs, kicking them off his ankles and onto the floor. Dean looked up at him through his eyelashes, locking their gazes while he sat up and undid his own pants, leaving them both in only their underwear.

Cas shuffled up to rest his head on the pillows, watching Dean crawl up his spread legs, tangling his fingers in Dean’s hair when he was close enough. Slowly- achingly slowly- Dean dropped his head to Cas’s hips, licking trails across the sharp V that emerged from under his shorts. Cas groaned as Dean travelled further, beginning to mouth at the line of Cas’s arousal through the fabric, sending sparks of lust through Cas’s body.

Dean’s hands smoothed up Cas’s thighs, fingers grabbing the waistband of his underwear and rolling them down, past the thatch of dark hair, exposing more and more warm flesh as he went; more to kiss and suck bruises into. Cas helped Dean pull them all the way off, revealing the hard length of his cock that bounced up to rest against his toned stomach.

Cas was bare and exposed, goose bumps erupting across his naked skin, and Dean’s eyes darkened.

He dipped between Cas’s legs again, sucking bruises into the strong muscles and sensitive flesh of his inner thighs, then finally pressed his lips softly to Cas’s cock. Dean hummed and allowed the vibrations to make Cas squirm. He pressed the flat of his tongue to the sensitive base, licking along the pulsing vein and up to the head that beaded with pre-come, sucking just the tip into his mouth.

Cas panted, hips jerkily thrusting up, begging Dean for more.

Dean obliged, relaxing his throat and remembering the few other times he’d done this, taking Cas inch by inch into his mouth, sucking and hollowing his cheeks as he went. He brought his hand to the base, using his other to push Cas’s stuttering hips back to the mattress, and swirled his tongue around the velvet skin, making Cas’s breath catch in his throat, his chest seizing with each small wheeze of air.

Dean kneaded his fingertips into Cas’s hip while twisting his fist around Cas’s swollen cock, agonisingly aroused by the feeling of the heavy flesh in his mouth, swallowing deep when Cas grunted his approval.

“I-“ Cas started, the words trapped in his chest. “I’ve never-“

Dean pulled off, lazily stroking Cas’s cock in the warmth of his palm, and smiled softly up at him.

“You tryna tell me you’re a virgin, Cas?” Dean asked, leaving more kisses on Cas’s hips.

“Not with this,” Cas said, voice deep and gravelly and fucked-out. “But with…”

“Yeah,” Dean murmured, understanding what Cas meant. “It’s okay. I’ve only… once.”

Cas swallowed the lump in his throat, his body relaxing into the sheets, all the tension draining out of him at once.

Dean snagged his fingers in his own boxers, finally removing them so that there was nothing between them, just uninterrupted, burning skin. He nipped kisses along the length of Cas’s cock before taking him in his mouth again, working out each movement that made Cas whine and sigh. After one leisurely suck, Dean rising so that only the purpled head was still inside the O of his lips before sinking back down and feeling the blunt flesh hit the back of his throat, Cas writhed on the bed, a stifled whimper escaping into the quiet room.

Cas thought he saw stars, his cock twitching as he grabbed Dean’s hair roughly and dragged him up to his face, staring wide-eyed at the spit that trailed off of his reddened lips. He surged forward, groping Dean wherever he could, crashing their lips together in a stifling, feverish kiss, teeth knocking together and tongues rolling.

Dean groaned as Cas grabbed at the meat of his ass, using it to pull him impossibly closer, rocking his hips so that their cocks were slick alongside each other, rising up and grinding down over and over until they both thought they’d go mad from the growing friction.

Cas brought his other hand around, grasping Dean’s cock in his calloused palm, jerking him a few times experimentally, pleased with the hitched breaths and low groans that emerged from between his pretty lips.

“Promise me that you’ll stay,” Dean said abruptly, breaking the heavy silence, still rocking steadily up into Cas’s hand.

“I’m yours,” Cas breathed into Dean’s mouth without hesitation, kissing him again, swiping his tongue over his upper lip and exploring every area of his mouth.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Dean gasped, his hips losing their steady rhythm, so Cas drew his hand away and up to grip Dean’s broad shoulders. “I’m yours, Cas- _everything_ I can give- it’s yours.”

Cas felt the desire course through him like a star burning up in his lungs- every atom of him ignited with a fiery need and hunger so strong he barely recognised himself under the influence of it. He was drunk; Dean intoxicated him.

Dean’s hand travelled down Cas’s front once more, this time more urgently, moving with purpose. He rubbed his thumb over the head of Cas’s cock, spreading the pre-come down his shaft, before trailing his slick fingers further. He ran his middle finger lower to press on Cas’s perineum, slowly stroking up and down the sensitive skin as he kissed Cas’s swollen lips, each time delving further and further down until Cas flinched and gasped.

“Relax,” Dean instructed softly, beginning the gradual trail down again. “I got you.”

Cas breathed deeply, forcing his muscles to loosen and allowing his limbs to go slack, leaning all his weight on Dean and the bed. He spread his legs wider, pushing his knees out, and lifted his hips. Dean’s breath caught at the sight of Cas, open and inviting, his face flushed pink in the lowlight and his stomach muscles trembling as he held his position.

Cas tilted his head back, baring his throat, and Dean nudged his nose under Cas’s chin, worshipping the searing skin with his tongue and lips. He circled Cas’s perineum again, then dipped lower, pressing the pad of his finger against Cas’s tense hole.

Cas stiffened again, and Dean unexpectedly climbed off him and scrambled around in his pants that were in a heap on the floor, leaving Cas debauched and deprived on the bed, skin quickly growing cold. He was back moments later, a small glass bottle in his hand, and Cas leant up on his elbows to see what he was doing.

“Sunflower oil,” Dean explained, a pink tinge to his cheeks. “It’ll make it easier.”

Cas nodded, a heady anticipation pooling in his gut. He watched Dean open the bottle and pour some onto the palm of his hand, dipping his fingers in it to slick them up. Cas spread his legs out again as Dean crawled over him. He touched his index finger to the tight ring of muscle, barely making contact, and Cas drew in deep, deliberate breaths.

When Cas had relaxed, Dean pushed his finger in up to the first knuckle. Cas continued to breathe heavily, forcing his muscles to relax again- Dean helped, smoothing his other hand over the planes of Cas’s stomach, pumping his cock a few times in a loose, languid movement.

Dean pressed in further, until all of his finger was inside. Cas hissed quietly and clenched around Dean’s finger, taking a few moments to allow the intrusion, to adjust to the feeling of something inside him. Dean began moving, pumping slowly in and out, crooking his fingertip, circling around the hot flesh.

Cas grabbed at Dean’s shoulders and held on tight, his nails digging crescent shapes into Dean’s skin, and rolled his hips slightly. He felt the press of another finger and was unable to stifle his twitch, but quickly became adjusted to the now familiar sensation, letting Dean push two fingers inside him. A noise came out of his mouth, something between a gasp and a moan, when Dean’s fingertips brushed against that area deep inside him that sent sparks through his muscles.

“You okay?” Dean asked, voice low and breathy.

Cas nodded quickly, showing his enthusiasm by rocking down onto Dean’s fingers. Dean took his eyes away from between Cas’s legs, leaning up to kiss him, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth like that’s where it belonged. He moved again, pumping his fingers in and out in a steady rhythm, occasionally hitting Cas’s prostate and making him twitch and groan. Dean sat up again, pulling his fingers out, and Cas was momentarily surprised at how empty he felt, how _needy_ he was to be filled again, for _more_. Dean poured some more oil on his fingers, then pressed back in, the feeling of it slippery and wonderful.

Cas sighed, content, and only lifted his hips higher when he felt a third finger press at his rim, pushing inside and stretching him out. _God_ \- it felt so fucking _good_. Dean spread the lube around inside Cas’s heat, making sure he would be ready to- and that’s where he’d stop _that_ train of thought, because he didn’t want to come right there and then.

Cas rolled his hips once, filthily, boldly, and moaned at the pressure it put on his prostate. He began a steady rhythm, arching his back up and pressing down again, pushing Dean’s fingers impossibly deeper. Cas’s body was on fire, heat filling every inch of him, his head hazy with desire. Dean wrapped his fingers around Cas’s cock again, gently stroking him in time with his thrusts, and Cas had to hold his breath to stop himself from tipping over the edge.

Dean was almost painfully hard, watching Cas writhe around on the sheets, his head thrown back with bliss, lips parted in a constant ‘o’, rolling his hips down onto Dean’s fingers, desperate for more, cock flushed pink and leaking pre-come.

“So beautiful, Cas,” Dean breathed, biting on Cas’s neck, using his tongue and teeth to suck and lick and kiss wherever he could, bathing in the sweet skin and inhaling his heady scent. “So fuckin’ _beautiful_.”

Cas whined- actually _whined_ \- and Dean nearly came just from hearing it.

“’M ready,” Cas begged, his voice cracking. “Please, Dean.”

Dean grunted, grinding himself on Cas’s thigh, pressing his cock down onto the hot skin.

“Please,” Cas sighed again, desperately rocking down on Dean’s fingers. “ _Please_ fuck me-“

Dean stopped moving, forcing himself to remove his fingers and squeeze the base of his dick, calming himself down before he ruined everything by coming like a teenager before they actually did anything. Cas huffed angrily at the loss of Dean’s fingers, wiggling his hips in a figure of eight motion on the sheets as if searching for something to fill him. Dean caught Cas’s hand and stopped it as it made its way to his cock, Cas whimpering at being barred from touching himself.

Dean dipped down to steal more kisses, giving them both some time to calm down a little, and stared at Cas’s swollen pink lips. They were wet with saliva and parted slightly, gentle but heavy breaths filling and leaving his lungs. Dean breathed him in again, letting Cas’s air fill his own lungs, and realised how intimate this was, how Cas fit against him like a missing puzzle piece.

Everything fell into place.

“You sure?” Dean whispered, kissing the corners of Cas’s lips, then along his jawline.

“Yes,” Cas breathed, raising his hips in a long movement, bringing their cocks together and pushing himself against Dean.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Dean hissed, groaning at the contact, feeling the heat of Cas’s dick slide against his own.

Cas pulled Dean down by the back of his neck into a sloppy kiss, tongues tangling and teeth nipping.

“Please, Dean,” Cas said, staring into Dean’s dark eyes. “Want you. Want you _now_.”

Dean swallowed the lump in his throat and sat up, quickly slicking up his own cock with a few long jerks, then rose onto his knees either side of Cas’s hips, still keeping their bodies close. He put his hands on Cas’s knees as Cas hooked his feet around Dean’s thighs, holding him close.

Dean used his hand to guide himself, lining his cock up with Cas’s hole. Cas kept his hand on Dean’s neck, using it to keep Dean’s focus on him, gripping the sheets with his other hand. His eyes widened at the first press of the blunt head of Dean’s cock, but managed to stay relaxed.

They gazed into each other’s eyes, blue meeting green, as Dean pushed just the tip in past the tight ring of muscle. Cas’s breath stuttered but he made no other sound, gripping the back of Dean’s neck, staring up at the dusting of freckles he could only just make out in the lowlight, unable to draw his gaze away from Dean’s blown pupils. Even though everything else was hazy, Dean was as bright as the sun, every ounce of his adoration contained and shining in the darks of his eyes.

Dean pushed in achingly slowly, Cas able to feel every centimetre of his length as he was stretched and filled. Neither of them could look away, eyes still locked on each other. Cas gasped again, barely able to breathe, all of him filled with the heat of _Dean_ , bursting from every seam of his body. The pressure in his chest stopped him from breathing out, and Dean quietly panted above him.

As Dean bottomed out with a grunt, the lungful of air Cas had been holding suddenly released. He gasped and panted, driven wild by the ache and stretch of Dean filling him, seated all the way inside him, their skin pressed flush together. Dean kissed him as he tried to catch his breath, their movements clumsy but no less genuine.

“Fuck,” Dean swore, biting down on his bottom lip. “Feel so good, Cas. So fucking _tight_.”

Cas hummed into Dean’s mouth, his chest still rising and falling rapidly, unable to speak. They just kissed for a long time, getting lost in each other’s touch, but the pressure and heat around Dean was becoming too much.

He pulled out just an inch then pushed back in in a shallow thrust, pressing himself further inside Cas than he had ever been before. After a few more moments where they collected themselves, Dean started up a gentle rhythm, rocking slowly, languidly, in and out of Cas’s tight heat. Cas hooked his feet around Dean’s ass, pulling him deeper with every thrust.

“Move,” Cas ordered, swallowing heavily as another wave of pleasure rolled through his body, making his muscles twitch involuntarily.

“Dn’t wanna hurt you,” Dean said softly, leaning back to look in Cas’s eyes and stroke a thumb over his flushed cheek.

“Not made of glass,” Cas murmured, raking his fingers through Dean’s hair and latching his lips onto Dean’s neck, sucking his own mark at the hollow of his throat. “ _Harder_.“

Dean groaned and his hips bucked on impulse, surging forward, burying him deeper into Cas. Cas gasped in surprise, knuckles whitening where they were clenched in Dean’s hair and the bedsheets.

“F- _fuck_ ,” Cas whined, driving himself back down onto Dean’s cock. “There, Dean- _fuck_ \- right there-“

Dean couldn’t refuse that. He began moving again, deeper, longer, pulling out further each time, hips snapping forward to meet with Cas’s ass, driving him up against the head of the bed and down again over and over.

Cas’s breathing grew laboured, every other thrust hitting his prostate and sending shocks of ecstasy through his body. They still moved slowly, but Dean fucked into Cas hard, firmly, enough to have him close to the edge again already.

Cas raised his head enough to look into Dean’s eyes, peering down to see Dean entering him over and over, his muscles clenching around the thick heat inside him. Dean groaned, hips stuttering, a wrecked noise escaping his kiss-bitten lips. When Cas looked back up, Dean rolled his hips again, working into Cas in deliberately drawn-out movements.

Dean reached out for Cas’s hands, guiding them both down so that they rested on either side of his head, arms bent at the elbows. Gently lacing their fingers together, Dean continued to thrust, pressing tantalisingly slowly against Cas’s sweet spot again and again, pinning Cas down to the mattress.

As the pleasure began to build, Dean sped up his movements, languid rolls becoming sharp thrusts, as if he was chasing something inside of Cas that would complete him. Cas threw his head back against the pillow, breathing wildly, rocking down onto Dean but not quite managing to meet his rhythm. His muscles were shaking- it was _Dean_ , his Dean, who was fucking into him, making love to him, the realisation lighting him on fire from the inside out.

Dean smothered Cas’s neck in sloppy, hard kisses full of teeth and tongue, then climbed up to kiss his lips, Cas barely able to respond. The heat grew too much, and Dean buried his face in the space where Cas’s shoulder joined his neck, breathing into his skin.

“So close, Cas, ’m so close,” Dean mumbled, driving himself in deeper, deeper-

“Oh- _fuck_!” Cas cried out, almost screaming, the pressure pooling in his belly so strong now it was about to burst out of him. “Yes- oh my _god_ … Dean-”

Dean wrapped an arm around Cas’s back, gripping his bare skin, digging his fingers in.

“’m not gonna last,” Cas gasped, voice fucked out and whiskey-low, the sound of it in Dean’s ears rushing straight south. “Ah, so good, Dean… so fucking _good_ -”

“Cas, fuck,” Dean groaned, managing to resist the urge to sink his teeth into Cas’s shoulder.

He moved faster, no longer holding back, barely even aware of anything but the blood rushing in his ears and the sharp pain of Cas’s nails scraping across his back. Cas’s cock got trapped between them, pressed against his own stomach and rubbing on Dean’s, the friction making the heat in him grow even more.

Dean caught Cas’s gaze one final time. The way Cas looked- red and flushed, eyes fluttering and glazed over, thick lips parted, hair wild and messy around his head- pushed Dean over the edge.

He cried out, fucking into Cas without mercy, chasing his release as his vision went blurry and his eyes squeezed shut. Cas was barely breathing, so close to his own climax that he couldn’t do anything but let Dean keep rutting into him. Cas could feel Dean’s cock throbbing, pulsing with his rapid heartbeat, streams of warm come spilling inside him.

Cas stopped breathing when Dean managed to clear his head enough to wrap his fist around Cas’s cock, stroking him in fast, jerking motions, twisting his wrist and swiping his thumb over the head. Only a few moments later, Cas shouted and his vision whited out, the double stimulation too much for him to bear. He could still feel Dean moving inside him even though he was softening, and Cas felt his own come paint his and Dean’s stomach as Dean worked him through his orgasm.

Dean’s movements stuttered and stopped and he collapsed on top of Cas’s chest, still buried to the hilt, both of them breathing heavily, eyes hooded. When Dean had gained back some semblance of reality, he pulled out, feeling his come drip out of Cas and onto the sheets, and tilted his head to kiss Cas’s lips, keeping the other man breathless for as long as he could.

Dean reached up to the bedside table, grabbing the washcloth he’d used earlier to clean them up, then shuffled onto his side so he could lie facing Cas.

Dean stared at Cas as their heartbeats slowed, smiling at the blissed-out expression on his face, the soft pink on his cheeks, the devotion in his dark eyes.

“You’re so beautiful,” Dean said quietly, pushing back Cas’s sweaty hair then reaching down to hold his hand.

Cas smiled softly, feeling drowsy and sated, and a swell of warmth surged up inside his chest.

“You’re more than I could ever have wished for,” Cas whispered, brushing his fingers over Dean’s forehead, following a path to behind his ear. “Thank you, Dean.”

Dean’s expression turned puzzled. “What for?”

Cas closed his eyes, moving closer to press his nose to Dean’s chest, Dean’s arm folding over his back.

“Ev’rything.”

Dean smiled, something unnamed blooming in his chest, and succumbed to the darkness of sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In other words, please don't use sunflower oil as lube.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for: Sexual Content, Smoking, Discussion of Dean/Cas/Benny

~*~

 

_I hold it true, whate'er befall;_

_I feel it, when I sorrow most;_

_'Tis better to have loved and lost_

_Than never to have loved at all._

XXVII

 

 

Dealing with the aftermath of the bombing was difficult, but they managed it.

The field that had been destroyed was one that had previously been filled with hay, so- thankfully- most of the crop had already been harvested. However, the plants were dry, and the fires that the explosion had caused spread across the entire field, burning everything to a charred husk of the land it once was. They feared that the soil would be ruined from the explosive chemicals and the ash, and had no way of telling if it would grow crops again any time soon.

Once the embers had died down, they spent hours clearing the worst of the debris away, until all that remained were blackened stalks and a wide crater that split the land.

 

Dean had woken to rain a couple of nights later, the drops hammering against the old roof and windows like bullets.

Cas was sat up, facing the wall, his eyes unfocused as he stared out of the glass. Dean watched him watch the lightning, each flash lighting up his expressionless face with blinding white, never flinching. Dean saw the glint, though- the lost, aching dilation of Cas’s pupils, his eyes searching the dark sky as if waiting for something.

Cas’s breaths followed every crash of thunder, and he hoped that he would see something, hoped that the next rumble would be the sound of approaching spitfires. He stared as the rain pounded mercilessly down on the muddy pathways, watching the waves created by the strong wind blowing ripples in the downpour over the fields.

Dean looped an arm over Cas’s shoulder, rubbing his gentle hand over Cas’s chest, over his heart, and pressed a soft kiss to the base of Cas’s spine, then two more to the dimples either side. He carefully pulled Cas back down to the mattress, breaking Cas’s gaze from the rain-spattered window panes, and wrapped his arms around the other man.

Cas woke in the morning, unsure of whether or not his silent vigil for his brothers had been just a ghostly dream.

 

That afternoon was pleasantly warm, a soft breeze on the air, and the land was lush and green from the night’s rain.

Dean and Cas walked up the stairs of the main house, Cas turning off into the children’s bedroom, and Dean following the sound of a voice to the bathroom, poking his head around the doorframe.

Hannah was sat in the dry bathtub with her rubbery gas mask on her lap, completely involved in some illusory game of childhood, the images of which were now completely lost on Dean- gone with the rich fantasies of his days spent in a stable, loving home. With her hands raised to chest-height, fingers moving restlessly over unseen buttons and levers, it wasn’t difficult for Dean to at least attempt to see the world Hannah was briefly living in – the complex controls in her cockpit, the markings and coloured patterns that adorned the metal shell, and the great blue surrounding them filled with warring machines.

His knock on the peeling, white-painted doorframe was met with a look of heavy distaste. Hannah turned her head to Dean, her arms still raised, and that laughably familiar expression- one he had seen on Sam since infancy- appeared on her face. Her eyelids came down, just enough to convey her displeasure at Dean interrupting her, and he felt the smile grow on his lips.

“I’ve got a couple of ha’pennies in my pocket,” Dean said, “and was just wondering if you would be interested in joinin’ us on a trip to the sweet shop.”

The speed at which Hannah clambered out of the tub was impressive even for an eight-year-old ball of pure energy, and Dean stood out of her way as she raced down the stairs.

Cas emerged from the children’s bedroom at the sound of small thumping feet, Alfie sat on his hip, the boy’s cheeks rosy and hot and eyelids drooping from sleep. He blinked blearily up at Dean and mumbled something incoherent, then turned a wobbly head to the hallway. Cas raised his eyebrows and Dean winked at him, heading past the yellow light streaming from the open door and jogging downstairs.

Hannah was sat on the bottom step fastening the metal buckle of her left shoe, and Cas set Alfie down next to her before guiding his little feet into his little sandals. Hannah ran to get the coupons from Anna, and Dean went to get the bicycles.

As soon as they were all in position- Hannah stood behind Dean on the back of his bicycle so she could see over his head, and Alfie balanced on the fabric-wrapped top bar of the frame of Cas’s- they were off. Hannah gripped Dean’s shoulders tightly so she wouldn’t fall off as they pedalled down the country lane, and Dean heard her laugh. Alfie “ _aaa’d_ ” loudly with his mouth open, so that the rough track beneath their wheels would make his voice warble and tremor, and Cas grinned as he picked up speed.

They raced down the streets, the children laughing and squealing as they sped further and further on, occasionally letting the pedals spin wildly as they rolled down the steep hills. Alfie pointed to the village he could see from their height advantage, and Dean briefly caught the view of the red bricks of the town hall, school, houses, and shops, of hundreds of windows reflecting brilliant sunlight, before they dipped out of sight again.

Cas looked to Dean, smiling widely, watching Dean’s short-cropped hair blow madly in the air that blew against their faces, staring at his and Hannah’s smiles as they pedalled faster and faster. Leaning closer to the handlebars, Alfie under his chin, Cas worked his legs harder, until the throbbing ache in his thighs and calves demanded he slow.

They both skidded around a corner, dust kicking up under their tyres, and Hannah elatedly shouted directions as Dean almost lost his way.

They were at the village within fifteen minutes, both men panting for air as their lungs burned, but they were smiling, and the children were laughing. Alfie looked wind-swept and giddy as Cas helped him off the metal frame and stood him on the ground, taking his hand and leading him and the bicycle to the nearest metal railings. Dean rested his bike there, too, and they walked on to the shops just down the street to catch up with Hannah, who’d already run ahead with her pigtails flying behind her and her skirt flapping against her knees.

Although there weren’t many sweets to choose from, the children looked so happy Dean felt his heart melting. He picked Alfie up and rested him on his hip when he wanted to see the jars on the higher shelves, his blue eyes scanning each chocolate and candy for long moments, assessing which ones he wanted with his measly ration.

Cas looked up at Dean holding the little boy, and a tiny smile tugged on the corners of his lips. Seeing them so close, so comfortable together, almost made Cas cry. And when Hannah yanked on the green fabric of Dean’s pant leg, pointing at a bar of Cadbury’s milk chocolate, Cas watched Dean’s animated face respond and soften. Cas saw Dean’s hand reach for Alfie’s tummy, tickling him mercilessly as he giggled and squirmed in Dean’s arms, and Cas was frozen to the spot.

He was only broken out of his daze when Dean turned fond eyes to him, asking if he’d like anything.

“A few lemon sherbets,” Cas replied, “if you can.”

Dean nodded and smiled, and turned to the old woman behind the counter, placing their all-important confectionary order. The children gawked, open-mouthed, as the woman weighed out their share of the sugary goods, and lifted their hands without being asked to receive the little brown paper bags.

Cas nodded his head and thanked the shopkeeper as they left, the bell above the door ringing sweetly. Both the children’s hands were already shoved inside their bags, Alfie stuffing a square of fudge into his mouth, managing to wipe his sticky spit across his cheeks. Dean peered inside his own crinkled bag and popped a piece of salted fudge between his lips, chewing obscenely and groaning at the creamy taste. He held the bag out to Cas, offering him his lemon sherbets. Cas took one, sucking on it and relishing the sour taste.

Cas saw Hester sat on the pavement across the street, staring at him with her jaw clenched. He met her eyes defiantly for a moment, before looking away.

“Right! Home time,” Dean called, swooping Alfie up in his arms. “Me and Cas have important stuff to do.”

“Cas and _I_ ,” Cas corrected. “And we do?”

“Yes,” Dean mocked, “we do.”

Cas shook his head when Dean wrinkled his nose at him, and followed behind Hannah back up the gentle hill to their bicycles.

The ride home was more relaxed, Alfie crunching his milk teeth into solid sugar as they pedalled peacefully through the countryside. Late afternoon light was beginning to settle in, and the fields of wheat and green crops were no longer starched in the white glare of the midday sun, instead softened and hazy. The landscape seemed to ripple and wave, and when Dean passed under a row of leafy, wide trees, their cover shattering the road into cracks and shards of light and shadow, he knew that he would never again feel this atmosphere in anywhere but England.

They reached home and the kids went to the garden, where Anna sat in a deck-chair in the sun, wearing a pale yellow sundress. Cas smiled at them as they went, before turning around to face Dean, chickens clucking and pecking around their feet.

“What’s this important stuff, then?” he asked, placing his hands on his hips.

Dean suddenly looked shy, as if he didn’t want to admit to his secret plans, ducking his head and looking down. He spoke to his feet, and stared at a hen that fixed its beady eyes on his shirt buttons.

“I think that… we should go stargazing.”

Cas felt warmth spread through his chest, and quickly looked Dean up and down.

“Okay,” he agreed, working out in his head where the best spot would be to lie on their backs and watch the night unfold.

Dean’s eyes met his again, a faint blush on his cheeks, and he nodded slowly.

Castiel told Anna they were going for a walk, and not to worry about their dinner. He led Dean in a familiar direction, over the fields and hills that would take them to the pool, occasionally stopping to gaze over the landscape.

On top of one of the tallest hills they had in their plot of land, where the wind was salty from shores an unseen distance away, they paused. Dean wiggled his toes in his boots, pulling apart a piece of grass in his fingers as he scanned the skyline.

What must have been twenty miles away, a deep green metal invention of the last century sliced the land unerringly, appearing black with distance and roaring unnaturally fast through the countryside. Plumes of smoke trailed behind its funnel, and Dean imagined the modern men and women sat inside tasting teas and reading newspapers glancing briefly out of the polished carriage windows to only momentarily acknowledge the existence of the farm family’s simple life, before going back to their own lifestyle, uninterrupted.

The train continued on its hasty journey, its sleek and shining, solid body lurching through the slow and rich-green fields as if only a blink or a whisper in time, no tangible evidence of its existence except in the rising white-grey of its burning fumes.

Cas slipped their hands together, either oblivious to the thoughts running through Dean’s head, or uncaring to the railway people’s humdrum lives.

They didn’t watch the sunset. Instead, they watched each other.

The water was warm when they swam, and cooled as the evening progressed, but it was bliss. Dark had settled over their little slice of the Earth by the time they were dry and wrapped in their jackets for warmth, huddling together as they searched for a perfect spot.

The ground was chilled at their backs as they lay on the woollen blanket, indulging in the silent, simplified world. As colour and light was washed from their surroundings, everything became unhurried and effortless. Their day to day worries didn’t exist in those long minutes, wrapped lovingly in nature’s arms, lying side by side.

The stars grew brighter as the darkness swallowed the land, each pinprick of white flickering suddenly into beautiful life. They talked quietly for a while, waiting for the patterns to start appearing.

“Look, Cas,” Dean’s low voice rumbled, the vague outline of his hand waving in the dark.

“Look where?” Cas asked, trying to line himself up with where Dean’s finger was pointing.

“There.” Dean guided Cas’s sight, pressing them closer together. “Those five, in a cross.”

Cas slowly mapped out each one, until he could see which stars Dean was referring to.

“I see them.”

“That’s _Cygnus_ , the swan,” Dean explained, laying his hands back on his chest.

“What’s the story behind it?” Cas asked, seeing the shape of the animal now- the outstretched wings, the long neck.

“Fuck if I remember,” Dean said, and Cas snorted. “Something to do with Greek gods.”

He pointed at another shape, identifying it as _The Plough_ , and Cas entwined their fingers together as he spoke. Cas found that he didn’t care much for the constellations. Though he enjoyed Dean naming them, the most fascinating thing was purely taking in the whole sky.

Lying together under so much history, so many galaxies and nebulas and planets, all the little things suddenly lacked importance. They were so small, so miniscule in the grand scheme of things- but Cas thought that Dean belonged up there, flickering with brilliance in the night sky.

“Where did you learn all this?” he said softly, laying an arm over Dean’s chest and tucking himself into Dean’s side.

“Sammy,” Dean said, sighing soundlessly. “Sometimes we just sit out on the hood of a car, watching the stars, for hours.”

Cas breathed out, charting his own constellations, thinking of star-maps made from faint freckles, and younger brothers a long way away.

“I’d like to meet your brother someday, Dean,” Cas said slowly, and even though he knew the request was unreasonable, he felt compelled to say it.

Cas could hear Dean turning his head to look at him, and feel Dean’s stare on his cheek.

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, and this time he didn’t sound reserved or pained as they spoke about his brother. “Yeah, you’d get along like a house on fire.”

Cas smiled at that, resting his hand over Dean’s heart.

Dean’s head rolled straight again, watching the sky once more. He thought about Sam, and wondered what he’d be doing now, whether he’d aced all his recent exams, whether he’d taken Jess out on a date yet.

He blinked a few times, and tucked his hand under his head, the other looped around Cas’s back. He rubbed his thumb back and forth over Cas’s shirt, pressing a kiss to the crown of his warm head, perfectly content in the soothing tranquility of the night.

Dean looked to the thin crescent moon, its arms embracing the faultless black eternity, and smiled.

 

~*~

 

Once the shock of the air raid had passed and normality returned, Dean and Cas found themselves more and more wrapped up in each other as each day passed.

They worked themselves sore so that they could finish just a little earlier, going on walks, listening to crackly music in Cas’s room, running through fields of golden wheat laughing and holding hands, swimming every so often in the river, kissing in the water, their hands exploring each other’s bodies until they felt like they knew each other inside and out. They told stories and talked for hours on end, wasting the days away, living in their own little world.

Everything felt like a dream, as if all of their wildest fantasies had come to life. 

Lying in a field of low-growing wheat, Cas thought that he’d never been happier than in that moment. Dean was below him, his freckled cheeks rosy and flushed as Cas kissed him, teasing him with gentle bites on his lips, breathing his air, tangling their wet tongues, and running his hands slowly up and down the firm muscles of Dean’s chest.

Dean’s hands were on Cas’s lower back, holding him close, his hot palms searing through Cas’s shirt as they moved together, one of Cas’s thighs pressed between his.

They slowed after a while, Cas mouthing along Dean’s jaw, both of them relaxed and loose under the wide blue skies and heat of the sun. They listened to the wind, letting it soothingly caress their skin and hair, and melted into the hazy atmosphere around them.

“You never said,” Cas realised, pushing himself up on his hands to stare questioningly down at Dean’s face. “If I’m… who you like.”

“Who I-? Oh,” Dean blinked, looking down to Cas’s lips then away. “Um. It’s… not quite black and white.”

“What do you mean?”

Cas rolled sideways, propping himself up on his bent arm, facing Dean who was still lying flat.

“Well, I don’t really, uh… know if this is a thing, but,” Dean sucked in a breath, looking up at the sky. “I like both. Both women and men.”

“It’s a thing, Dean,” Cas said softly, watching the man turn his head to him, a hopeful expression transforming him into a younger version of himself- one not worn down by years of doubt and pain. “Anything you feel is a real thing, simply because you _do_ feel it.”

Dean nodded slowly, a gentle acceptance washing over him.

“What about experience?” Cas asked, unabashed now they were delving deeper.

"Fooled around with a couple guys,” Dean admitted.

“Who were they?”

Dean shrugged. “Fuck knows. Never asked, and never told, either. It’s safer- if you tell someone your name, they could ruin you with a word.”

A sly, dubious look crossed Castiel’s face. “Why did you tell me, then?”

Dean smiled, turning to lean on his arm too. “Because I’m not ‘fooling around’ with you, Cas.”

A pink tinge blotted Cas’s cheeks and his lips parted on a shaky inhale.

Dean pressed closer, joining their lips together in a tender kiss. Cas’s hand lifted to Dean’s face, holding his cheek and guiding him in their movements.

Something struck Dean without warning.

His mind assaulted him with memories of their short time together, and of every time he’d felt that flutter of _something_ in his chest that he’d never quite found a word for. The recognition of what the feeling was suffocated him, making his lungs seize up and his heart skip beats.

“Dean?” Cas asked, concerned, and Dean realised he’d stopped moving completely, no longer responding to Cas’s faint kisses.

Dean stared through Cas, no longer seeing anything but the bright stars that Cas was made of, and found his body growing weak.

“I…” he started, swallowing the lump that had lodged itself in his throat.

“You…?” Cas nudged, ducking his head and finally managing to catch Dean’s gaze. His worried expression almost made a laugh bubble up in Dean’s chest.

“I love you,” he breathed, letting the words surround him, hearing them fill the endless skies.

Cas froze, only managing to draw in a tiny breath past his closed throat.

“I really…” Dean smiled, feeling the tears prick at his eyes, breathless as he looked at the man next to him. “I love you.”

“It’s… it’s been two weeks, Dean,” Cas croaked, holding something captive on the tip of his tongue.

“I know,” Dean said. “And honestly? I don’t fucking care.”

He ran his eyes over every inch of Cas, drinking in the sight of him lying in golden wheat, the afternoon sun making a halo of light around his head.

“I love you, Cas. I’m _in_ love with you. We haven’t got long together and I-“

_Don’t know if I’ll ever see you again._

“I want to spend every minute I can with you. I want to learn everything about you, from the way your _stupid_ hair stands up in the morning to the crinkles you get at the edges of your eyes when you smile. I wanna pull down the moon and the stars for you and sappy shit like that. See? I _love_ you, Cas.”

Cas was barely breathing, a tear falling from his eye and marking a path down his cheek. When Dean had first said it, he thought he’d just been humouring him, saying it to make Cas feel better before he left forever. The words had been trapped inside him, agony to keep hold of, and now he could let them go.

“I love you,” he replied, and then he was free. “I love you, Dean Winchester, with everything I am.”

A smile of disbelief and emotion split Dean’s face, his eyes still flicking from place to place across Cas’s face, before he lifted a slightly-trembling hand to touch, to make it real. Dean’s hand was warm on his skin, the hardened pad of his thumb wiping away his tear.

“I love you infinitely,” Cas continued, unable to stop himself now. “Boundlessly. _Eternally_.”

It took one movement for Dean to be on top of him, knees either side of his hips, their lips crushed together in a mind-numbing kiss. Cas didn’t care if the world ended the next day, because this was all he could possibly dream of.

“I want you- Dean,” Cas murmured between kisses, his tongue demanding against Dean’s. “Every- part of you.”

Dean rolled his hips down, once, feeling the vibrations of Cas’s moan all the way down to his belly.

“Then,” kiss. “ _Have_ me.”

Cas growled- actually growled- and rolled over with enough force to slam Dean to the ground, claiming his mouth with his own, grabbing at every centimetre of skin he possibly could.

Several intense minutes passed, both of them delirious with the rush of everything that was happening, then stopped to rest their foreheads together.

“I wish this would never end,” Cas whispered, his mouth only millimetres away.

“It won’t,” Dean soothed, rubbing his hand down Cas’s arm. “Not if we hold on.”

Cas nodded, ducking down again for another kiss before the sorrowful emotions took hold, washing them all away with Dean’s taste, with his smell. Cas felt cleansed.

“Fuck,” Dean groaned. “Need to… get back to the house. _Now_.”

He pushed a bewildered Cas away from him, jumping to his feet and grabbing Cas’s hand, dragging him in the direction of their home.

Cas’s stomach fluttered and his heart pounded, and he knew that no plane would ever match this kind of flying.

 

When they finally got through the door, Cas dragged Dean backwards by his shirt, the backs of Cas’s knees hitting the bed before he fell down onto it. Dean crawled over him, leaning down to press more kisses to Cas’s soft, warm mouth, both of their lips wide with smiles. Dean laughed when Cas’s fingers brushed over the ticklish spots on his sides, then snaked around his back to rake his fingers up and down his spine. It was heated and playful all at once, and neither of them could get enough of each other.

Cas shuffled backwards so that he could lean against the pillows, surrounded by the smell of _Dean_ that clung to his sheets. He knew that tiredness was making him feel softer, but it was so good, so _nice_ to feel warm and content while Dean put his knees on either side of Cas’s hips, straddling him but not pressing down enough for there to be any contact. Cas whined, upset that Dean wasn’t giving him the attention he wanted, but thoughts of anything sex-related were overwhelmed by the sensation of Dean deepening their kiss, using his tongue to explore Cas’s mouth and make him moan.

With a filthy twist of his hips, Dean ground down onto Cas’s lap and the heat built in his stomach, his pants growing tight. Dean sat him up, still kissing him breathless, and pulled his t-shirt over his head then followed with his own, so that their blissfully heated skin was pressing together. When Dean lifted his hips up and rocked down again, Cas threw his head back and gasped- and that was _exactly_ what Dean wanted. 

Cas didn’t have a moment to process it as Dean rushed forward and pressed his face against the crook of Cas’s neck, indulging in the smell of his skin. He began to plant soft kisses along Cas’s collarbones, enjoying the scratch of Cas’s nails on his scalp when he ran his fingers through his hair. Cas was pliant and needy beneath him, whining quietly with pink dots on his cheeks, and Dean almost came in his pants like a teenager right then and there. There was delicious friction between them and Dean couldn’t hold back his groan when Cas jerked his hips up to make contact again, driving up to meet Dean’s movement down, and he latched on to Cas’s neck with single-minded intensity.

Cas was lost in a haze of want and breathy moans as Dean started sucking hickeys onto the column of his throat, pressing tender kisses to the bruising skin to soothe him. Dean knew that there was hardly anything Cas loved more than being kissed like this- hell, Cas could probably get off to _just_ these kisses because his neck was such an erogenous zone. He moved up to the hot skin just beneath Cas’s ear and jaw, brushing his hands down Cas’s chest to draw a shudder from him, and focused on lapping up the fine layer of sweat that coated his skin. Cas moaned again, and Dean progressed downwards to follow the sharp lines of Cas’s jaw, leaving wet trails and red marks as he went.

By the time Dean made it to the dip of Cas’s clavicle, Cas was a writhing mess, squirming and sighing and rolling his hips jerkily to try to find some kind of release. Dean took a moment to press kisses down Cas’s chest inch by inch, but then Cas grabbed his jaw and the back of his neck and yanked him up to his lips, moving their tongues together sensuously and desperately. Dean broke it again a moment later and Cas cursed Dean under his breath, his irritation evident on his face, and Dean couldn’t help his laugh. He snaked his hand around Cas’s back as he worked his mouth under Cas’s jaw again, and gripped Cas’s ass to pull their bodies closer. Cas groaned long and low, and hiked his leg up over Dean’s hip so he could keep their groins pressed together.

Dean carried on kissing Cas’s neck, loving the breathy sounds he drew out from the man, feeling him writhe and fall apart beneath him. It took a minute or so, but he managed to shift Cas’s pants and underwear down past his hips, then knees, then off his feet, and soon after his own followed to the floor. Then they were naked, and it was just miles and miles of hot, supple skin, and Dean could barely hold back.

They rocked on the bed together, grinding and rolling their hips, shoving each other back and forth, Cas’s hands squeezing Dean’s biceps. After Cas let out a broken “ _please_!”, Dean reached down between them and held their cocks in his fist, jacking them both slowly enough to have Cas _begging_ him to move and go faster. It didn’t take much persuasion for him to comply, twisting his wrist in all the ways they liked, panting hot breaths against Cas’s neck, undulating his body and trapping Cas between him and the bed.

“F-fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ,” Cas whined, trailing his hands up and down Dean’s back before finally latching onto his hair, bringing his other hand down to help Dean grip them, moving their sweaty palms together over their cocks.

Dean hissed as Cas rubbed his finger over the slit of his dick, wiping the pre-come over his skin, and snapped his hips up to chase the touch.

Cas was growing close- so, _so_ close, and after so little time, but he didn’t care. Dean started sloppily kissing his neck again, and Cas saw stars. With a few final nips and sucks to the skin of his throat and pumps of Dean’s warm palm, Cas was coming, thinking of nothing but Dean’s voice saying “ _I love you_ ” over and over again.

When Cas came down from his high, chest rising and falling rapidly as he panted, Dean was still groaning breathily, working himself to the edge.

Cas gathered together all his energy and pulled Dean down to the bed, replacing Dean’s fingers with his own palm and stroking him quickly and perfectly. Dean’s voice cracked as he whimpered out the word “ _Cas_ ”, his fists clenching in the sheets, his desperate whines scaling higher and higher in pitch. Cas almost grew hard again just from the sound of it.

“ _Shit_ … ‘m gonna-“ Dean gasped, looking down to see his dick moving in and out of the tunnel of Cas’s hand.

Cas leant closer, his hot breath ghosting against Dean’s neck, then bit at Dean’s earlobe.

“ _Come_ , Dean,” Cas ordered, voice low and sultry.

Dean’s mind whited out, coming in spurts across Cas’s hand, all the air stolen from his lungs.

Cas was lazily mouthing at his throat when Dean came back to himself, and he didn’t hesitate to grab Cas’s neck, tilting his head awkwardly to kiss his mouth.

They lay in silence for a minute or so while their heartbeats settled and their breathing regulated.

“Nap?” Dean suggested, smiling impishly.

Cas slapped Dean’s stomach, drawing a burst of laughter from him, already nestling himself into the sheets and Dean’s chest.

They breathed in time with each other, Cas listening to the steady thump of Dean’s heart, letting it overwhelm his senses.

“Love you,” Dean muttered shyly, pressing a kiss to the crown of Cas’s head.

“Love you too,” Cas mumbled, warmth exploding like fireworks in his chest, and smiled against Dean’s skin.

 

~*~

 

Reaping day finally came, the conclusion of hours of making arrangements and deciding when the crop was going to be perfect for harvesting.

Everyone was up earlier than usual, filling themselves on a slightly larger breakfast, and ready to work as the sun finished rising. Not long after, a group of men turned up sporting heavy-duty farming clothes, each of them ready to help out.

Dean laughed and greeted his buddies from his section of their platoon, introducing them one by one to the English family.

Victor came first, the oldest of them all- he was a dark-skinned man, sure and confident in himself, a glint in his eye that dared anyone to make a comment or gesture on his race. There was something soft about him, though, perhaps a father’s gentleness. He was quiet and careful with the children, squatting down to their level as he greeted them.

Then came Benny, a stocky man built like a brick shithouse, but with a kind face and even kinder eyes. His accent was thick and his voice low, something that completely threw the family that were only used to the Hollywood version of Americans.

Ash was next, a wiry man with ridiculous hair, who seemed to be intoxicated but apparently wasn’t. Dean pointed out that Ash was the genius of their bunch, but Ash just raised his hand and flipped him off.

Then came Chuck, who was a short, nervous man, with a face full of scruff and eyes that flitted around the place constantly, both of them circled with dark bruises. He was sweet, though, and endearing in his own way, despite the hunch of his shoulders and awkward avoidance of much contact.

Finally was Garth, a weedy man with a strange but loveable face, demanding hugs from everyone that had “become Dean’s family away from home”, tears gathering in his eyes. Despite being slightly uncomfortable in his behaviour, he more than made up for it with his calm, mellow personality.

They headed out to the three wheat fields as the morning began, Cas smiling almost constantly at the stories the other men told about Dean. Dean, ever humble, would just look down whenever any of them complimented him, and Cas wished he could kiss him without fear of consequence. Of course, all of them threw insults and snarky remarks around too, and Cas found himself laughing as they shoved each other about, tripping up into the dust.

The sun beat down hard on them, and the work was unforgiving, but they gradually progressed from one section of field to the whole field, then on to the next. The Americans sang marching songs, and the English sang working songs, everyone learning new melodies and heritage from each other’s countries. Lunch time rolled around, and they all ate sandwiches and cake underneath a tree near the river, sharing stories and experiences.

Dean spent half the day staring at Cas as he worked, his muscles shifting and sweat building on his skin as he chopped at the stalks, helping load the crop onto their cart. After a couple of hours, Cas took his shirt off, and Dean had to spend several minutes just staring at the ground, trying to think of anything but the beauty of Cas’s tanned body, his skin golden and glistening in the sunlight like he’d been carved out of fucking marble or something.

Dean knew, without a doubt, that he had it really, _really_ bad.

Unsurprisingly, Cas spent his day doing exactly the same thing. The freckles that grew darker on Dean’s cheeks and nose and forehead and arms and shoulders were _begging_ to be kissed, and Cas found it hard to resist pinning Dean down and taking him right there on the ground.

By mid-afternoon, everyone was at least slightly (if not horrifically) sunburnt and aching all over, but feeling surprisingly, blissfully happy. With the help of Dean’s army friends, they finished the job hours earlier than they usually did, so celebrated with an early dinner, everyone crammed around the small kitchen table.

Dean spent some time with his friends, playing a few games of cards and catching up on lost time, and Cas left him mostly in peace.

They said their goodbyes at four in the afternoon, Balthazar and Anna insisting in a typically English manner that they take some money for their time and hard work, as well as the rest of the cake they hadn’t eaten (plus a batch of fourteen scones). The men thanked them profusely, smiling and waving as they left, and then they had the rest of the day off.

Dean and Cas made a hasty retreat, their hands brushing as they snuck off to their barn house, locking the door behind them.

 

Dean pressed another soft, lingering kiss to Cas's swollen lips before slipping out of the bed, not bothering to put on any clothes, and went over to the record player. Cas- his heartbeat slowing after what they’d just done- enjoyed the view of Dean's naked body, looking at the way the sunlight drenched every curve and angle of him in warm colours.

Cas reached over to the bedside table, taking a sip of water and opening his pack of cigarettes. He realised that- at one point- being this exposed, with just a few folds of sheet covering his bare legs while he was in the presence of another man, would have humiliated him. Marvelling at how much things had changed in so short a time, he lit up a cigarette as Dean flipped through their meagre collection of vinyls.

"Dean?"

"Mm?" Dean replied distractedly, reading the back cover of a record.

Cas smirked as he breathed out a lung full of smoke. "If you could fuck one of your army buddies, which one would it be?"

Dean almost dropped the vinyl, his voice going higher with every word. "Um... none of them?"

Cas had an idea, knowing Dean was expecting him to get frustrated. "Okay."

" _'Okay'_ what?" Dean said, turning around.

Cas spent a long moment just staring back at Dean. He had a slight smile on his face, cigarette hanging between his fingers, leaning against the headrest of the bed. His bare chest and long legs tempted Dean to crawl on top of him again and kiss him senseless, music be damned.

"Chuck," Cas began listing, utterly deadpan.

"No," Dean scoffed, going back to the records.

"Ash."

"Hell no."

"Garth."

" _God_ no."

Cas took another drag. "Victor."

Dean chewed his lip. "Maybe if he wasn't such a _shit_ all the time."

Cas hummed, tapping off his ashes.

"Benny."

Dean paused, hands stopping where they were holding a record, fingers running lightly across the paper.

"Oh my god." Cas gasped, looking at Dean with wide eyes. "You want to fuck Benny!"

"No I d-"Dean's neck flushed red and he ducked his head, trying to carry on with his task as if nothing had happened.

"Yes you do, you _paused_ ," Cas bit on his tongue, holding down his smile. "What if we invited him here?"

"Cas-" Dean warned, fingers coming up to rub his eyes.

"What if I let him fuck you, while I watched," Cas teased, his cigarette burnt halfway down. "Or if he fucked me until I screamed, and you could watch him take me to pieces. Until you _begged_ to join in."

The muscles in Dean's body tensed and he put down the vinyl, looking back with a slack mouth at Cas on the bed, the glaze in his eyes giving away the fantasy that was playing in his head.

"Shit," Dean breathed, stepping closer. "That's hot."

Cas smiled, proud that he'd managed to fluster the other man. Dean stumbled forward and climbed onto the bed, leaning over the smirking man beneath him. He lifted Cas's smoke from his fingers, breathing in the last puff slowly before putting it out in the ashtray on the bedside table, then hovered over Cas's face, staring down at him with his bright green eyes. Cas basked in the attention, no longer uncomfortable when Dean looked at him as if he'd hung the moon.

Something fiercely possessive passed across Dean's face. "But you're mine."

He leant down, pressing his body against Cas's, joining their mouths in a fierce kiss. Dean swiped his tongue across Cas's bottom lip, pushing in until he barely knew where his lips stopped and Castiel's began. Cas moaned into Dean's mouth, running his hands up his arms and shoulders and around to grip his neck, forcing their faces impossibly closer. Dean ran his hot hand down Cas's front, stroking the smooth skin that arched up into his touch, before pulling only centimetres back and leaving Cas breathless.

Dean tucked a loose lock of hair behind Cas's ear, looking into his darkened blue eyes then swiping the pad of his thumb over Cas's full bottom lip.

Cas gazed up at the man, waiting expectantly for him to say something. Dean's expression was gentle and loving, his eyes filled to bursting with adoration, and Cas could feel his heart squeezing in his chest.

"And I'm yours," Dean finished, watching the way Cas's breath caught in his throat.

Cas carefully tugged him down to join their lips again, kissing Dean long and languidly, wishing he could put into words everything that he felt for the man and hoping that the intimate touches they shared said it in their place.

Dean got up to hurriedly put on a record, letting the smooth sound of [_Moonlight_ _Serenade_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TZQQ0vUBceM) fill the room. They kissed for a long time while the jazz played softly in the background, their hands mapping out the hills and valleys of each other’s bodies, getting lost in the heady, sweet scents of summer and one another’s skin.

They lay together on the sheets, sticky and content, sharing another cigarette and looking out the window, across the land. The music had stopped playing, but neither of them had noticed.

“Cas?” Dean asked, drawing circles over Cas’s stomach with his finger.

Castiel looked down at him, pushing him on.

“What’s in the box that you took to the shelter with you?”

Cas was still for a moment, then swallowed. He silently got to his feet and knelt down- completely naked- to reach under the bed, taking the wooden box out with him. He climbed back next to Dean, leaning against the headboard, and pulled the covers up to his waist.

“It contains my most important possessions,” Cas explained softly, unclasping the slightly rusted hook that kept the lid down. “A memory box, if you will.”

Opening it with care, Cas started to take out items one by one, listing them as he went.

There were several photographs, some evidently much older than others, of various people. One of the more recent ones was of the farm family, all of them smiling in front of the house, and a slightly earlier one- without Meg and Charlie- showed four other men Dean hadn’t seen before. Cas named each of them, and Dean smiled at the sight.

While some of the pictures were formal, others were relaxed and obviously taken to document their day-to-day lives. A collection of them were of the family in different places doing different things, sometimes paying attention and smiling at the lens, other times deep in thought and not noticing the camera pointed their way. There were a few snaps of the beautiful landscapes of the farm, a few Dean didn’t recognise, and one of Alfie and Hannah at the beach, sand all over their legs and hands.

There were some of Cas, too.

Each photo was taken at different times, tracking Castiel as he grew. One showed a cute, dark-haired baby in a pram, wearing a white bonnet and matching frilly outfit, the picture quality grainy and the paper wrinkled. Dean snorted a laugh and Cas smiled fondly down at it, pointing out the threadbare teddy that his younger self was gripping tightly.

“That was the day I was adopted,” Cas said. “As you can see, they dressed me for the occasion.”

Dean flicked to the next one, staring down at a photo of an older Cas- looking unmistakably like himself now at around age three, sporting the slightly confused, slightly annoyed frown that he so often wore.

The other photos documented his childhood in bare details, some of him with his brothers, others of him involved in activities and tasks like cooking or cleaning or playing with toys. Dean felt a surge of warmth blossom in his chest.

Cas reached for the box again, very carefully taking out a delicate string of silver, five pale, white precious jewels that almost looked like diamonds set in the slightly tarnished metal. He laid it out on the bed gently, as if it would snap if he was rough, and smoothed a thumb over one of the gems.

“This is all that was left with me on the doorstep,” Cas explained, his eyes distant. “There wasn’t a note, or a name, but there was this.”

Dean stared down at the necklace, knowing just from looking at it that it was old, and genuine.

“Your mother’s?” Dean asked quietly.

Cas nodded slowly. “I hope so.”

Dean took his hand then, kissing Cas’s palm and wrist tenderly.

There were a few other bits and pieces in the box- trinkets and pebbles, pressed and dried flowers, a scratched gold watch with a cracked face; things that evidently held meaning to Cas but looked like ordinary objects to Dean. He didn’t explain them, and Dean didn’t ask.

“Wait here,” Dean said after a minute of quiet, heading down the creaky stairs and rustling around in what Cas presumed was his bag.

He came back up with two things in his hands. Sitting on the bed, the mattress dipping slightly, he opened one hand to show a slim silver ring, and placed it down next to Cas’s necklace on the white sheets.

“Look, we match,” Dean said, smiling brightly. “It’s my mom’s.”

They both spent a while just staring down at the two pieces of jewellery, until Dean revealed what was in his other hand. He held a chunky handheld camera, and with it were a few of his own photographs.

“This is my mom, Mary, and me,” Dean said, laying out a well-loved picture of a blonde woman hugging a five-year-old Dean from behind, a gummy smile on his young face.

“She’s beautiful,” Cas said, picking up the picture to look closely at both the smiling faces.

Dean put down another one, this time showing the same woman- albeit younger- standing with a man. She wore a white dress with a top layer of sheer chiffon- its edges and details embroidered with lace- that fell to a couple of inches above her ankles, and a long veil that trailed from her head to the ground, and held a small bunch of flowers in one hand, her other hand looped over the man’s arm. He wore a military uniform and his expression was blissful, and they both beamed with joy at the camera.

Cas looked down at the date that had been signed in the corner- 1919.

“My dad was in the Great War,” Dean explained, tapping the photo with his finger. “He met mom in 1915, and they both fell in love, but thought that marrying before he left was moving too fast, as well as asking for disaster. When he went off to fight, they realised they couldn’t live without each other. They were married two weeks after he got home.”

Dean laid out a couple of other photos- another of his father in his neat uniform by himself, one with his arms wrapped around the swell of a pregnant Mary’s stomach, and one with them both cradling a swaddled baby in their arms that Cas beamed at. A later photo showed a different pregnancy, and in another both parents looked straight out at them, stood in front of a house with a six-year-old Dean between them, a baby resting in the crook of Mary’s elbow.

“That’s Sammy,” Dean said, pointing at the nestle of blankets. “And this is him a few months ago.”

Dean put down the last picture, one of both him and a teenager. Sam was handsome, with floppy hair drooping down over the tops of his eyes, the picture capturing a still of his face as he laughed. Him and Dean were holding beers, reclining against a car, their expressions alight with mirth, the figure of someone unseen hovering at the side.

“We’ve been sending each other letters almost weekly,” Dean said, smiling softly at the photograph. “Kid misses me too, apparently.”

Cas leant over and gently kissed Dean on the cheek. “I’m sure he does.”

They both carefully put away their various belongings, settling into an easy silence. Dean kept his camera out, though, and started checking it over, looking through the viewfinder and dusting off the lens.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had a camera?” Cas asked.

Dean shrugged. “I forgot. Been too wrapped up in you.”

Cas smiled happily, the corners of his eyes crinkling, and Dean lifted the camera to his face and pressed the shutter.

“I’ve got one too,” Cas added afterwards, spreading himself out on the sheets, knowing Dean would appreciate it. “But I’ve run out of film.”

Dean took another photograph of Cas on the bed, the white sheets covering only his naked hips, his legs and abdomen and arms all still on display. The late afternoon light fell soothingly over his soft body, and Dean wished with all the faith he had that the picture would come out alright.

They spent the rest of the afternoon taking photos, as Dean had a couple of extra films in his pack. Some of them were of them kissing, or lying together, others of the rooms, or the houses, or the landscape and the fields. 

 

Cas took some of Dean, too, lying in the grass or playing with Alfie and Hannah- he knew that one of them was going to print blurry, with just the image of Dean laughing while the two children piled on top of him.

They shared a cigarette that night, breathing the smoke into each other’s lungs as they kissed. Cas looked at the camera on the bedside table and thought about the dark film cased inside, each slide documenting the tender days of their relationship, and knew that this was proof; proof of them, proof of every dream that had come true.

Cas knew they’d both need it when the memories of smoky breaths and reverent touches were lost to time and distant shores.

 

~*~

“You know, you still owe me that dance.”

Cas looked up at Dean, towelling the bathwater off his naked body.

“What dance?” Cas asked, pulling on his underwear and a clean white linen shirt.

“When we met,” Dean continued, his voice muffling the further he disappeared into Cas’s room. “You said we’d make a good pairing.”

Cas stepped into his trousers, tucking his shirt in and doing up his belt, then looping his braces over his shoulders. He headed up the stairs too, rolling his sleeves to his elbows, walking inside to see Dean flipping through their records again.

“ _I_ said I’d have to take you up on it,” Dean said, bending over to put a record on the table and positioning the needle down on the rim.

“And?” Cas smirked, knowing exactly what was coming next, the record player crackling.

“This is me taking you up on it,” Dean grinned, grabbing Cas’s hand and tugging him forward into the room.

The intro to [_In The Mood_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_CI-0E_jses) started blaring from the speaker, louder than they’d played any music so far, the big brass band and steady drums thumping in the floor and walls of the room.

Dean started bobbing up and down, tapping his feet, smiling mischievously. Cas laughed, then yelped as Dean pulled him sharply towards his chest, slotting their bodies together in one long line.

“Come _on_!” Dean shouted, moving back and forth, sticking his tongue out and pressing it against his lip in concentration. “I know you can swing- no use resisting!”

Cas rolled his eyes, beginning to move his feet too, letting Dean guide him through the simpler steps as the song warmed up into its real rhythm. The happy melody buzzed through his body, lighting him up, Dean’s touch making every move they made blissful.

“You’re a regular Fred Astaire,” Dean chimed, nodding to Cas’s feet.

Cas tilted his head.

“Does that make you Ginger Rogers?”

Dean laughed, loudly, the joyful noise exploding in the space.

The room was small, but they made do. Things got dangerous when they started doing tricks, mimicking moves they’d performed and seen on that hazy night in the village hall, finally able to dance together now they were in private. Dean held Cas as he kicked his legs out, swinging himself around, twisting Dean from place to place too.

The wood floorboards beneath their feet thumped and groaned with their jumps, but they just grinned, growing bolder with every note that played.

They managed a couple of unsteady flips, both of them using each other to feel the rhythm, to work together, to move as one. Dean flipped backwards over Cas’s bent over head, almost kicking the low ceiling, landing with a heavy thud on his feet. Cas pulled him closer again straight away, their faces so close they could feel each other’s panting breaths, before pushing himself backwards, keeping hold of one of Dean’s hands.

When the music paused for a second, both men stopped dead - they knew the song so well that they were able to tell when certain positions had to be held, when they should go all-out to a heavier beat, when to slow and keep their warm bodies pressed close. As soon as the band continued, they nodded and kept moving, both of them unable to stop the loud laughs that ruptured out of their mouths.

When the song started drawing to a close, the brass beginning its crescendo, they executed a few final tricks- Cas swinging himself 360 degrees around Dean’s back, Dean swinging his leg over Cas’s ducked head- and sped up the pace of their feet, completely letting go until the last note rang out.

Hearts racing and gasping for breath, they stood in each other’s arms, Cas staring into green eyes, Dean staring into blue. A red flush was on both of their cheeks from the sudden burst of energy, the record player crackling until the needle lifted, and they slowly tilted their heads, leaning in to kiss.

Before their lips could touch, a sharp and harsh rapping on the barn door echoed up the stairs, a voice shouting “ _WORK_!” through the silence left by the music.

A small chuckle bubbled up from Dean’s stomach and Cas just sighed, only pecking Dean’s lips before they both went out to do their duties.

 

Lunch came around, both of them having done separate jobs all morning, and Dean was still out moving the animals with Charlie.

Everyone else settled down to eat, knowing the others would come when they were ready.

Cas was in the middle of wiping soup and snot off Alfie’s face with a napkin when Charlie burst through the door, filth smeared across her overalls.

“ _Christ_ , I’m starving,” she complained, clattering down into her seat and grabbing a piece of everything off the table.

Anna scolded her for her language, and Hannah grimaced as Charlie shoved a piece of bread in her mouth, crumbs falling onto her lap. Alfie was still squirming around, using his little sticky hands to try to push Cas away and chanting “ _no, no, no_ ” over and over.

Dean came up to the door, one hand resting on the doorframe.

“Hey Cas,” Dean said, everyone turning their heads to him. “Can I talk to you outside for a minute?”

“Yes, of course,” Cas agreed, slightly concerned, managing to get the worst of the mess off Alfie’s face as he stood up, following Dean’s muddy footfalls outside.

Dean led him around the side of the house, where they were in the shade and couldn’t be seen by anyone. The second Cas had turned the corner he felt Dean’s hands on him, shoving him up against the wall, pushing his mouth over Cas’s in a fiery kiss. Cas was stunned into stillness for a moment, but quickly melted into Dean’s arms, responding to his fevered movements with equal enthusiasm.

“God, I missed you,” Dean breathed, shoving his hands under Cas’s shirt.

“Dean-“ Cas gasped out between kisses. “It’s only been - a few hours-“

“Yeah I know – but…” Dean sighed, running his fingers through Cas’s hair. “Jesus _Christ_ , Cas – you…”

“I what?” Cas whispered, tugging Dean’s upper lip between his teeth, sliding his tongue over the roof of Dean’s mouth.

“You drive me crazy,” Dean moaned, rubbing his thigh up against Cas’s crotch.

Cas let out a stifled groan, snaking his hand down to grip the meat of Dean’s ass. They kissed for a few minutes, breathing heavily, Dean pressing Cas up against the wall at his back, before Cas started squirming in his hold.

“Dean, we’ve-“ he started, but barely had the willpower to pull himself away. “Got to – _lunch_.”

“Just a couple minutes longer,” Dean said, low and whiskey-deep.

“No,” Cas said, weakly pushing Dean off. “ _Dean_ -“

“All right, all right,” Dean sighed and stepped back, his warm touch suddenly gone, leaving Cas feeling robbed. “Man, I’m just not gettin’ any action today, am I?”

Cas listened to his heart rate slow, looking at Dean and his slick, wet mouth.

“No, you’re not.” Cas said, tucking his shirt back in his trousers.

“See, now you look all pretty and mussed up for lunch,” Dean grinned, tracing his fingers teasingly down Cas’s side again.

Cas slapped his hand, batting him away. “You’re a dick.”

Dean laughed, following Cas as he turned and walked back to the house.

They entered the kitchen together, Dean with a smug smile on his face, Cas with his shoulders hunched and his eyes shifting nervously around the room. Everyone stared at them for a very long, very awkward moment, Meg full-out grinning and Charlie trying not to splutter into her soup as Dean and Cas sat down in their places. Balthazar raised an eyebrow at them, and Cas felt the heat of shame climb into his cheeks.

Dean had somehow managed to stay looking relatively normal, but Cas had been neatly dressed when he left the room, his clothes ironed and meticulously done up. Now, his shirt was barely tucked in and creases littered its surface, especially at the bottom hem and over his chest, and his collar was pulled loose around his neck. His lips were red and kiss-bitten, his cheeks rosy, and he avoided all eye contact as he continued eating.

If anyone there had previously had any suspicion of what Dean and Cas were to each other, they certainly knew for sure now.

Cas felt sick. What would they say? Oh fuck, what if they kicked him out, disowned him, called him disgusting names, hurt him or hurt _Dean_ -

His heart skipped a beat in his chest.

He glanced up a minute later to see that everyone had just continued eating as if nothing had happened, and the tight knot of tension that had built up in his stomach dissipated completely, a swell of affection and love growing for each member of their wacky little family. Dean smirked at him from across the table, their feet knocking together, then dug in to his own meal.

They went back to work after lunch, this day a long one, meaning they only finished at about seven in the evening.

Everyone played some games to relax, all of them settling in the living room of the main house, Charlie and Dean getting especially competitive with each other during a round of rummy. Cas found the bickering strangely endearing, and didn’t bother to hide his fond expression.

The knock on the door came when Alfie had started to fall asleep on Anna’s lap.

Balthazar went to get it, everyone else continuing with the game, unaffected. Cas could hear a short, muffled exchange of words, then the door closing and Balthazar’s footsteps in the hallway.

“For you, Dean,” he said, holding out a small, crisp envelope. “A telegram.”

Dean placed his cards down, eyebrows furrowing, and stood to receive it. He looked over the sender’s address.

“D’you mind if I-?” Dean asked, gesturing over his shoulder.

“No, not at all,” Anna smiled, and they all watched Dean leave.

A thread of nervousness shot Cas’s attention, and he was out of the game two minutes later. Concern twisting his gut into knots, he got up and left the room, nobody trying to stop him. He walked out to the barn house where he figured Dean would be, and knocked gently on the door.

“Dean?”

No sound came from inside. Cas tentatively turned the latch, stepping through the door and stopping instantly in his tracks. Dean’s bag was on the other side of the room from where it usually rested against the wall, its precious contents spilled out on the floor. He’d thrown it.

Cas looked up from the mess to see Dean, sat on his own bed, staring straight ahead and into nothing, with the opened letter clutched in his hands.

“Dean?” Cas asked again, walking closer. “What’s happened?”

The American didn’t respond for a moment, then turned his head slowly to look at Cas with devastated, teary eyes.

“I have to go.”

Cas’s stomach dropped into his feet, his whole world collapsing beneath him.

“When?” he breathed, his voice weak.

Dean’s gaze was distant and unseeing.

“Two days.”

Cas’s entire existence crumbled. Every part of him cracked and shattered, the warm place in his heart turning to ice, every good thing that he held close suddenly and prematurely ripped from his body. His lungs seized up.

“Two days?” Cas said, everything around him freezing and shrinking into this one moment.

Dean nodded slowly, looking back down to the paper in his ink-stained fingers.

“They don’t give much warning,” Dean said, but couldn’t even manage a bitter smile. He just felt… _broken_. “To stop the enemy finding out about our movements.”

Cas swallowed, then finally moved. He stumbled forward and fell to his knees in front of the other man, taking the letter from him and placing it carefully on the bed, grasping Dean’s cold hands in his own. When he looked up, he realised that Dean was crying.

“Cas?”

Cas stared into glazed green eyes. “Yes Dean?”

“Why do I lose everything I love?” he asked, his voice cracking.

Cas’s heart broke in two, in three; into a million pieces.

“You are not,” Cas breathed in shakily, “going to lose me.”

They’d been letting themselves believe they could have something they couldn’t keep, and now it was all tumbling apart around them.

Dean had been loving on borrowed time.

“I’m so sorry, Cas,” Dean choked, a sob escaping. “I’m so sorry.”

Cas lifted Dean’s trembling hands to his face, forcing him to cup his cheeks, to feel his skin and his warmth and his presence.

“Don’t be.” Cas looked up at Dean, who was still avoiding his eyes. “Dean, look at me.”

Reluctantly, slowly, Dean did. He watched as a tear ran down Cas’s cheek, his blue eyes bright with pain and sorrow, and wanted to cry even more knowing that he’d caused it.

“I love you,” Cas whispered, blinking another drop out of his eye.

Dean nodded, his throat closing over. “Yeah,” he managed to gasp out, a shaky inhale following after.

Neither of them dared to say that they should have known this was coming, because they’d been denying it for so long. For a long time it had felt like if they didn’t accept that they would have to say goodbye, it wouldn’t happen.

They split and disintegrated together, both of them collapsing under the weight of the truth. Of the inevitable.

Cas smiled weakly, rising up on his knees to press a kiss to Dean’s eyelids, first the left, then the right, ignoring the tears that wet his lips.

“Let’s make these days the best we’ve had.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, squeezing Cas’s hands. “Okay.”

 

That night, they went to bed in silence, only able to cling to each other for safety as their little world was destroyed piece by impossible piece all around them.

 

~*~

Dean and Cas did their work as normal the day before Dean left.

They picked fruit, rolled more hay bales, and did the laundry, talking and touching as if nothing had changed, as if nothing was _going_ to change.

Both of them knew that everything was breaking, though, the fissures in their hearts cracking wider by the hour.

Anna smiled understandingly at them, sympathy written all over her face as she let them finish their work early.

They grabbed a few things from the barn house before leaving for the river, deciding to have one last bathe.

They swam together, kissing softly, holding each other close in the water. As always, they watched each other move, admired each other’s bodies rippling under the surface, letting themselves be free and open in the beautiful clearing.

They dried themselves off in the last heat of the sun, lying together on the sand, sharing tender kisses.

Once they were dressed, Cas smiled- his eyes vivid with joy- and took Dean’s hand. They followed the route they hadn’t taken since their first meeting, walking the grass and fields and tracks that Dean had only ever seen in the dark. Sometimes they ran, chasing each other, kissing discreetly behind the trees and bushes that marked the borders of the fields, happy and overflowing with love.

They climbed the hill from the opposite side than before, this edge steeper and more painful for them, but by the time they were at the top they were rosy-cheeked and breathless, beautiful to each other, making the burn in their legs worth it.

They turned to face the sky, its endless entirety overwhelming and stunning, the landscape stretching for miles out in the distance in almost every direction. The sun had begun to set, gentle washes of colour trickling and bleeding into the horizon.

“I come here in the morning, sometimes,” Cas said, resting his head on Dean’s shoulder and linking their fingers, “to watch the sunrise.”

“Is it beautiful?” Dean asked after a moment, and Cas lifted his head again to look at him.

Dean turned his gaze away from the canvas of the evening sky that was awash with gold and ruby paint, focusing only on Cas.

“Yes.” Cas said, blinking slowly, and Dean didn’t think he was talking about the sunset anymore. 

Cas leant in, closing his eyes, feeling Dean’s mouth move and respond with him, drinking in every feeling- the wind in his hair and ears and on his cheeks, Dean’s hand around his waist, Dean’s tongue teasing along the lines of his lips.

They pulled away and looked back at the deepening colours of the sky, a few birds swooping low and close to them before their black shapes glided away, lost to the landscape.

Cas walked slowly away from Dean, running his hands at his sides through the husky sprigs of grasses that had grown to his thighs, stopping when there were a few feet between them.

Cas closed his eyes, tilting his head back into the dimming sunlight.

“I could dance for years.”

Dean watched him, reverent, his breath caught in his chest. Cas’s eyelashes fanned out on his flushed pink cheeks, a pure smile pulling up the corners of his mouth just slightly. The deep yellows and oranges of the sunset bathed his skin in colour, lighting him up almost as if from the inside out, his dark hair wild around his head.

“I want to dance for a million years with you, Dean.”

Dean kissed him like it was a benediction, as if they could hold each other like this forever.

Nothing mattered. Not the sun or the moon or the sky or the earth, only him and Cas. He wanted to drink these moments, bathe in them, soak them into his skin. He never wanted to forget, no matter how momentary his and Cas’s time had been.

As twilight settled over the countryside, they ran down the hill again, tripping and catching each other, picking flowers and tucking them behind each other’s ears when they were back in the fields. Dean inhaled the sweet scents of summer coming from the miles and miles of uninterrupted land around them, and the smell of the skin at Cas’s neck.

They were back at the house when night had fallen, cicadas chirping and animals asleep, neither of them caring that they’d missed dinner. They stumbled back to the barn house after grabbing a little food from the kitchen, kissing each other senseless as soon as they were through the door.

"Take me to the beach, Dean, I want to see the sea again," Cas breathed.

"We'll go further,” Dean replied, sucking Cas’s lip between his teeth. “I'll take you anywhere, Cas, anywhere you want."

"France.” Cas gasped, tugging Dean in again. “I want to see France, Dean"

"We'll buy a little villa," Dean agreed.

“With a balcony.” Cas nodded.

“And grow grapes.”

“Make wine.”

“Get drunk.”

“Make _love_.“

“…on the balcony.”

Cas laughed, the sound effortless and beautiful- a song in Dean’s ears.

He heard himself laugh too.

Cas could feel his soul ringing, chanting Dean’s name, every emotion inside him screaming the lyrics to songs that had no words. He thought that if he could give a fraction of his love for Dean to every being he touched, to every atom in the universe, then they wouldn’t have World Wars, and everyone would understand what it was to see galaxies under freckled skin.

Everyone would know what it was to fall in love with someone so immeasurable that every touch they gave was like being reborn.

 

They made love slow and tender that night, Dean curled around Cas on their sides, rocking gently into him as he pressed his palm over Cas’s chest, feeling his heartbeat and his breaths falter under his hand. They gasped in time with each other, Dean kissing the back of Cas’s neck, holding him flush and tight against him, wrapped in his arms and protected from the harsh world outside.

Cas finished with a shuddering “ _Dean_ ” on his lips, shaking with the intensity of the meaning behind the word.

Dean said Cas’s name like a prayer when he came, as if touching Cas was reaching for divinity.

They held each other closer, breathing as one, moving as one, their hearts beating the same rhythm. The night was slow and peaceful, every star flickering and dancing for them, the heavens alive and timeless, and all Dean and Cas knew was each other.

One.

 

~*~

 

They rose with the sun on the day Dean left.

They dressed quietly, Cas helping Dean straighten out his uniform correctly.

The birds sang outside, their joy stifled by the stone walls of the house, and Cas felt it appropriate. The muted calm of morning returned to them, just the same as it had been all those weeks ago. They passed into the hour of stillness, the place where they were caught between night and day, the slow and otherworldly atmosphere that usually lifted Cas’s heart into flight surrounding them.

It wasn’t the same that morning.

He watched Dean tie the canvas bag containing his small collection of belongings, tightening the straps that would hold it all together for as long as the pack survived on his travels.

Cas wasn’t flying. Cas was falling.

He looked down at the few items that would make up all of Dean’s life for the next however many years, and a rush of intense sadness engulfed him. Dean peered up when he’d finished leaning his pack against the wall, standing upright again, and stepped closer to Cas, who was holding himself stiffly and tensing his fingers at his sides.

Cas’s eyes stayed fixed on where the bag was, hanging his head and staring into nothing, even when Dean’s chest blocked his view. The tremble of his bottom lip and chin and the rapid twitching of his nose gave away the tears that were about to spill, and for once, Dean had nothing to say to comfort him. Cas grabbed the lapels of Dean’s jacket, gripping them in white-knuckled fists, and kept staring at Dean’s chest. A tear fell from his eye, but missed his cheek and dripped to the cold floor.

Dean closed the distance between them, gently cradling Cas against him, Cas pressing his face to the crook of Dean’s neck. They stood that way for a long time- Dean’s arms wrapped around Cas’s tense back, Cas refusing to let any more tears fall.

Cas breathed in Dean’s scent, memorising every subtle tang of familiarity and safety that engulfed his senses.

He drew back from Dean slowly, just enough that he could stare at the dip of his throat, then down to where his hands were clutching at Dean’s army jacket.

“I gotta go, Cas,” Dean said softly.

Cas swallowed, then nodded once, slowly. His vision blurred, and he couldn’t move. Everything was suddenly so real.

Dean tilted Cas’s chin up with the touch of a finger, making Cas look at him.

Cas almost didn’t want to gaze into the eyes he knew he’d lose.

There was a tear on Dean’s cheek, too, and he couldn’t even muster up the energy to wipe it away. He pulled his lips back into a tight grimace, attempting to smile and failing completely.

Every breath Cas drew was heavy and painful, and he wasn’t just falling- he was drowning. He surged forward hastily, desperately, and pressed his lips to Dean’s, only daring the tentative brush that came with first kisses.

His face scrunched up in pain, and he pressed forward again, bringing his hands up to rest on either side of Dean’s neck as he kissed him a second time, shoving desperately against his mouth. Cas took everything that Dean offered him and gave back more, letting himself be consumed by the press of warm skin and tangle of hot tongues.

The crack in his heart fractured, finally falling apart, and with every kiss- with every seal of his lips- he breathed his life into Dean. Everything he had- every kindness, every confession of love, every river and valley and ocean and mountain on the surface of his soul- he gave to Dean. Earthquakes crumbled him to dust, tsunamis flooded his lungs, droughts starved his voice. He counted each loss, wondering how much more he could give.

Cas reluctantly slowed down, panting into Dean’s mouth, pressing tiny, final kisses against the corner of his lips.

They both kept their eyes closed, trying to hold the moment for an eternal second and wishing they never had to let it go, Cas’s closed mouth resting on Dean’s chilled skin.

Cas swallowed, opened his eyes, and lifted his hands off Dean’s neck. He flattened his palms on Dean’s chest, running them slowly down his scratchy, green uniform-covered front, remembering the silk skin that lay underneath his clothes, finally settling on Dean’s hips.

Blue met green, and they stared in each other’s eyes until nothing else seemed to exist anymore.

Cas released a shaking breath, and stepped back.

Dean silently picked up his things, swinging his pack over his shoulder, and took Cas’s clammy hand in his own. He led them through the door, his feet heavy as they moved, and glanced back at the room, committing to memory one last picture of the bed and windows and record player, and each happy experience he’d had there.

Cas let Dean guide him, their hands joined softly, and turned his head away from the sight of Dean’s bed stripped of its sheets and covers. They let go when they left the barn house, Cas pulling the door shut behind him, and started walking to the gated entrance to the main house.

Waiting on the doorstep for them was everyone else.

The family walked down the front path, Alfie almost tripping over his own feet in his drowsiness, and stopped when they reached the two men. They stood in a line, facing Dean and Castiel as if holding rank.

Balthazar shook Dean’s hand firmly, clapping the other one on Dean’s shoulder.

“Good luck old boy,” he said, handing over a pack of cigarettes, Dean’s flask- now filled- and a deck of cards.

“Send me comics when you’re home,” Charlie said next, smiling despite the wetness in her eyes.

“I will.” Dean wrapped her in a tight hug, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“You’ve been tolerable, I suppose,” Meg rolled her eyes, and Dean barked out an unexpected laugh. His eyes widened when she wrenched him forward by his jacket, leaning close to his ear as he struggled to stay balanced. “You better _goddamn_ write to him, or it won’t be a Nazi that rips out your guts.”

Hannah tugged on Dean’s pants when Meg had stepped away, her arms crossed over her chest. Dean looked down to see Hannah motioning for him to kneel, so he squatted down to her level. She reached down, straightening out a seam of his uniform again, and smiled tightly. He pulled the girl into a hug, then pulled back and nudged her cheek with his finger.

“Miss you, kiddo.”

Samandriel stepped closer, raising his arms to be picked up. Dean lifted him without complaint, cradling the boy’s head to his shoulder and holding him close.

“You be good, Alf,” Dean said quietly when he put the snuffling child down again. “And stay sharp.”

Alfie nodded, clutching onto the material of Balthazar’s pants, refusing to meet Dean’s eyes.

Anna smiled gently at him. “Thanks for all your help, Dean.”

“Nah,” Dean said, dragging her into a tender hug. “Was my pleasure. Take good care of this place, okay? I want somewhere to come home to in a few years.”

Anna nodded, her eyes misty as they pulled apart. “We’ll try.”

Dean huffed a laugh. “That’s my girl.”

Dean tipped his head once, eyes lifting briefly to the house, but couldn’t move.

Everyone walked back along the dirt path to the doorstep, but Cas stayed rooted to the spot.

Dean looked at him. The dawn was nearly over, the soft washes of pinks and purples bleeding gradually out of the sky, and Dean memorised every line of Cas’s face. The way the morning touched his features made it seem as if a light glowed from inside his chest, pulsing over his heart, and Dean thought about all the burning nebulas that he had felt thrumming under Cas’s skin.

He hooked his arm around Cas’s neck, pulling him in for another hug- this one crushing and short-lived, and nowhere near satisfying their hungers for each other – their _need_. The others in the doorway didn’t react.

They drew away, and Cas reached out to grasp Dean’s hand in his own, not caring about who was watching.

“Write to me,” Cas said, his voice breaking.

Dean nodded. “I promise.”

He began to step away, walking backwards, their arms having to stretch to keep hold of each other until the very last second.

“I’ll be waiting,” Cas breathed.

Dean knew what he really meant.

Their hands slipped until only their fingers were touching. Then Dean’s warmth was gone, and Cas knew he would be cold for a long time.

He watched Dean walk down the narrow road, growing smaller with each heavy step, and then there was nothing left for Cas but empty fields, empty beds, and an emptier heart.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for: Minor Character Death, Discussion of War, Blood and Injury

~*~

 

_Dear friend, far off, my lost desire,_

_So far, so near in woe and weal;_

_O loved the most, when most I feel_

_There is a lower and a higher_

CXXIX

 

 

                                                                                                 August 20th 1942

Dear Castiel & family, 

We’re stationed now. Been sent out with a bunch of your lot to ■■■■, France. Not sure when we’ll be fighting anywhere, but can’t tell you anyway. The food’s awful- you’d hate it even more than I do, as you’re so used to all those healthy, home grown vegetables. 

Hope the weather’s treating you well- it’s very hot here. A few guys already have sunburn on their arms from their t-shirts- Chuck wouldn’t stop complaining & decided to drink away the problem. Managed to finish the only whiskey he had left.

Not sure if this is the France you wanted to visit. Too many soldiers and battlefields. Looking forward to getting something done finally, though. Hope you’re all doing well.

Give Anna my love. Tell her I miss her, and wish I could be there with her. I wish it almost more than anything.

Dean Winchester

 

 

                                                                                                _10 th September 1942_

_Dear Dean,_

_Glad to hear you’re settled somewhere, and hope you don’t have to fight too soon. Though I can’t imagine the food is any worse than your cooking._

_The weather’s been as expected for England- some rain, some bits of sun here and there. Presuming by now that Chuck’s sunburn is gone? I would send more whiskey, but, as you know, we don’t have much here._

_You’ll have to find the France I want to visit, & tell me all about it. _

_We are well, yes. Alfie decided he wanted to join in with the farming, so now has planted a row of seeds. Thankfully, they will grow at this time of year- we’ll avoid tears over it! Balthazar, Margaret, Charlie, Hannah and I are as well as always._

_Anna sends her love back. She misses you more than she can say, and will always wait for you to return to her. Says she wishes she could kiss you._

_Stay safe._

_Castiel Novak_

 

 

                                                                                                September 26th 1942

            Dear Castiel & family,

Getting a little colder here now. Leaves are going brown- no bright reds like ~~in the USA~~ back home. Everything seems to be brown here, actually- there’s mud everywhere.

I’ll ask Sam to send me some more drink- I’ve exhausted my supply too. Had a few training exercises, all got pretty tired out & some hurt, but am fine now.

Not sure what more to say. Sorry I’m not good with words like you. Sending my best wishes, and a happy birthday to you.

Tell Anna to write to me herself, if her hand injury isn’t causing her too much trouble.

Remind her that I love her. I think she’ll need to hear it.

                        Dean Winchester

 

 

                                                                                                _14 th October 1942_

_Dear Dean,_

_We’re settling into autumn too. Preparing meats and other foods for the winter._

_Glad to hear you’re feeling better. Alfie had a small illness last week, but it was nothing serious- we just had a very snotty-nosed little boy running around. All of us are taking any joy we can in the last few days of weather without frosts, though knowing it’ll be gone puts a damper on things._

_Don’t apologise, you can say as much or as little as you like. We’d all be pleased if we only got a simple “hello” from you._

_I’m having another eye & health test next week. I should have the results by the time I get your next letter. _

_Anna would like some time to come up with a clearer letter. She’ll write soon, & thanks you for your concern over her hand. _

_She says she loves you too (though I’m not sure you deserve it)._

_Castiel Novak_

 

 

                                                                                                _27 th October 1942_

_Dear Dean,_

_I’m presuming either something happened to my letter or you’re too busy to write. Don’t feel guilty, as I know you will- just focus on what you have to do. ~~I only~~ We just hope you’re safe. _

_Keeping this letter brief; I had my eye test. They say I’ve recovered enough of my vision to fight now, so I’ll be joining the force sooner rather than later, I’d imagine. I’ll have to write to you from the base, and correspondence will be rarer. Anna will keep you informed from home when she can._

_I’m scared, and I realise now that I shouldn’t have wished away my time._

_Anna’s letter to follow. Alfie says he’s missing you, and keeps asking where you are, and if you’re coming home. Make sure you do come home someday, Dean._

_Castiel Novak_

 

 

                                                                                                November 1st 1942

            Castiel,

Don’t have long to write. Sorry for not replying sooner, despite you telling me not to feel guilty. We’ve been busy.

Tell me as soon as you can when you’ll be leaving. I’ll be waiting for your address. Look after yourself.

I haven’t received Anna’s letter- hope to soon. Glad Alfie is OK. Glad everyone is OK.

Don’t worry about me

                        Dean Winchester

 

 

                                                                                                _2 nd November 1942_

_My dearest Dean,_

_It’s been months now – I’ve been counting the days since you left, hoping that one day I won’t have to anymore. I’m so sorry for not being able to write- you know how bad my hand gets, and I couldn’t read this sort of thing out for Castiel to write down for me._

_I’ve found myself listening to Vera Lynn more than I used to. Sometimes I dance alone in my room, and imagine that my head is resting on your shoulder, and that your arms are around me. As the days grow colder, things get harder without you._

_I’ve been picking flowers every week to remind me of you, but now hardly anything is green, and I can’t imagine your eyes the way I used to. I keep your pictures with me always. I managed to make some copies, so will keep them safe in the house. Sometimes I cry, I ache for you so much. I can’t get you out of my head. I guess that’s what love does to people._

_Keep your chin up, though- we’ll be together again before you know it._

_Castiel is leaving any day now. Keep an eye on him out there, will you? And if he gets into the air force, watch the planes that fly over. He’ll be looking down for you._

_Keep my picture close. I love you._

_Now and forever yours,_

_~~C~~    Anna Milton_

_P.S. I can feel my hand getting worse, so may not be able to write anything like this for a while. I’m sorry, Dean._

                                                                                                November 5th 1942

            Dear Anna,

I’ve been counting the days too. I miss you every day. Don’t worry about not writing, I know you’ll be thinking of me.

Some of the guys have been saying that Vera will come and sing for us, but I think it’s just a rumour. And if she did, it’d probably be for the Tommies, not us.

Weather’s getting frigid here- though it’s kinda pretty in its own way. The frost is beautiful. I wish I could be in snowy England with you, especially at Christmas. Just thinking about the food is making me hungry.

Don’t cry. We’ll be all right. You can dance with me soon, I promise.

I’ll keep a look out for Castiel, and I hope he gets the job he always dreamed of.

You know where your picture is. It’ll be with me no matter what.

Yours,

                        Dean Winchester

 

 

                                                                                                _7 th November 1942_

_Dean_

_Keeping brief, again. I got into the RAF._

_Leaving tomorrow. Have left this with Anna at home to post whenever she can. Saying goodbye is harder than I imagined._

_Stay safe, as always. See you out there_

_Castiel Novak_

 

 

                                                                                                17th December 1942

            Castiel,

I’m figuring your training won’t be going on much longer- I know how short the timing is for pilots. Hope this gets to you in time, wherever you are.

Happy Christmas Cas,

                        Dean Winchester

P.S. always said you were good enough

 

 

                                                                                                _23 rd December 1942_

_Flying is just as beautiful as I thought it would be._

_Happy Christmas_

_Castiel Novak_

 

 

                                                                                                January 10th 1943

            Castiel,

Hope the New Year treats you well. We all had some drinks for the countdown, celebrating together. I don’t think I’ve felt that happy in a while. It snowed the other day, and I thought about Anna for a long time.

I’m still watching the sky.

                        Dean Winchester

 

 

                                                                                    _24 th January 1943_

_Dean,_

_Happy birthday- I’m sure you’ll find great pleasure in being a digit older than me again._

_The snow is good for you, and very nice, but a nuisance for me. And cold._

_Keep watching._

_Castiel Novak_

 

 

                                                                                                February 22nd 1943

            Cas,

Think we’re getting worse at this letter thing. Have you been stationed?

Still watching.

                        Dean Winchester

 

 

                                                                                                _11 th March 1943_

_Dear Dean,_

_Sorry it’s been so long. I understand why you found it hard to keep up, now. We’re very busy._

_I saw my brothers the other day. I nearly cried just looking at them._

_Was in another country for training, but can’t tell you where. I’m currently in Australia, but mostly just for a layover. Think we’ll be moving out soon. It’s very strange being in another country- everything is arid and hot here, and it’s only the beginning of March._

_Find attached a photograph of me in my uniform._

_Looking down,_

_Castiel Novak_

 

                                                                                                April 27th 1943

            Dear Castiel,

Can’t imagine where you’ll be now. We’re moving around, and it’s getting much harder to stay in contact. Thanks for the photo. You look very handsome.

Hope things are better for you than they are for me.

Looking up,

                        Dean Winchester

 

 

                                                                                                _29 th May 1943_

_Been unable to write. Nothing in me is functioning right. Sometimes fear for mine & crew members lives when I’m not thinking straight. _

_Lucifer is dead. There was an operation flying over Germany, he was shot down. Michael was lost three days later in a routine exercise- he was alone, and we’re not sure if he did it on purpose. His crew have said he wasn’t himself after Luke went down- apparently, he saw it happen._

_I don’t want to think about it anymore, but I can’t_ stop _thinking about it._

_I’m nowhere near Gabriel or Raphael anymore, and I can’t check on them. I can’t check on you, either. I don’t feel like I’m protecting anyone. I’m sorry if this gets censored for being too negative._

_Everyone at home is devastated. Alfie is confused. I miss them all, and I feel like I’ll go mad if I can’t see them again soon._

_Write when you can._

_Looking down,_

_Castiel Novak_

 

 

                                                                                                June 4th 1943

I’m so sorry, Cas.

We watched a film the other day. I think you should see it. It’s called _Casablanca_.

Looking up,

                        Dean Winchester

 

 

                                                                                                _18 th July 1943_

**_Castiel Novak ¬ Margaret Masters_ **

Please forward this letter to the family.

_My Margaret,_

_I miss you more than I can say…_

 

                                                                                                _18 th July 1943_

_My Dean,_

_I miss you more than I can say._

_We’ve been apart so long- a year now- but I can still feel you next to me. I feel your warmth when I’m losing hope, I remember your touch when I have no more to give. Please don’t forget me. I look at your face in my photograph so often now, it’s getting creased and damaged. I can still see how bright your soul is, even from all this distance away._

_We’re all trying to keep going after the loss of our brothers. There’s something dim hanging around our house, but I don’t think that will leave for a long time._

_I hope things are going well for you, as always._

_Come home soon._

_I love you,_

_Anna Milton_

 

 

                                                                                                July 25th 1943

My Anna,

Thank you for your letter, I know it’s hard to find time to write.

Things are looking brighter for me and my men here, but we don’t know if it’ll last. We’re taking what we can get, though. The sun is out and it’s hot- we’re in North Africa now, which is very different. Not sure how well the fighting is going out here. We’ll have to see.

 ~~I remember you in my arms~~ I’ve been thinking of you. I have your stones on me always, and I hold onto them when I’m desperate  & weak & needing to remember those long, hazy summer days, and the night we met.

Post-boxes are scarce, so… until next time.

Remembering your smile,

                        Dean Winchester

            **_=_** **_Forwarded: Margaret Masters ¬ Castiel Novak_**

 

 

                                                                                                _13 th September 1943_

_Dean,_

_We’ve been all over the place. Some things are beginning to come back to haunt me. I want to see my family again, and England._

_I can’t write long letters anymore, for a reason that escapes me._

_Looking down,_

_Castiel Novak_

 

 

                                                                                                December 7th 1943

            Castiel,

Didn’t receive your letter until November, and can only use a post-box now. No news is good news, right? I think I’d somehow know if something had happened to you.

We’ve been fighting a lot since my last letter. Almost all of us were killed at one point, but we managed to get away by ■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■. I wish it was, but I don’t think this war will be ending anytime soon. Stay safe.

And Merry Christmas! Can’t believe it’s already been so long. Happy birthday, too.

Looking up,

                        Dean Winchester

P.S. Sam is well. I think we’ve managed to persuade him to not sign up, & he hasn’t been drafted so far- not completely sure why. Probably because he’s a genius. Think he’s trying to get into a university. I tell you, that kid’s going to be famous for something or other one day. I just hope I live to see it

 

 

                                                                                                _10 th February 1944_

_Dean,_

_Been thinking about how old Alfie is now. Anna told me that his parents in London have gone missing. Sorry I couldn’t get you Christmas & New Year’s wishes in time. Your birthday, too. Everything has been hectic. I think they’re building us up for something- something big. I don’t know where I stand on all this anymore. _

_I just want to go home. I’d give up my wings to go home._

_Missing you. Wonderful news about Sam._

_Looking down,_

_Castiel Novak_

 

 

                                                                                                February 23rd 1944

            Castiel,

We’re running low on food stocks now. Everyone’s exhausted. They’re not giving us any rest. Shit news about Alfie’s parents.

I think so too- we’re building up to something big. All my higher ups seem to agree, & the highest-ups look like they’re planning something. Might just be us going crazy, though.

Tell Anna I love her if you’re sending letters- I’m running low on paper.

Wish I could go home too.

Looking up,

                        Dean Winchester

 

 

                                                                                                March 20th 1944

            Castiel,

Heading out somewhere tomorrow. Wherever it is, I know from the look in the Sergeant’s eyes that we might not be coming home.

Make sure Anna knows that I love her.

Looking up,

                        Dean Winchester

 

 

                                                                                                April 2nd 1944

            Castiel,

Worried about you, but again, no news is good news. I’ve got to keep believing that.

We’re only getting more tired. Seen some things I never want to think about again. I’m still watching the skies, wondering if you’re close.

Make sure Anna knows that I love her.

Looking up,

                        Dean Winchester

 

 

                                                                                                _15 th April 1944 _

_Dean,_

_I’m so sorry for lack of letters. Everything’s the same on my side. I don’t even know the names of half the places I’ve had to fly over. So sorry._

_Please stay safe. I think I’m headed out somewhere very soon._

_Anna knows that you love her. She says that she loves you too._

_Castiel Novak_

 

 

                                                                                                May 5th 1944

            Castiel,

Headed out again, on our way back to Britain. Endless battles on the ground.

I lost the white stone at some point over the last week. Its loss feels heavier than some deaths I’ve seen. It’s how I’ve figured out I’m messed up now.

Don’t think we’ll be making it across this time.

Best of luck with everything, Cas. Give everyone my love. Tell Anna I love her.

Forever looking up,

                        Dean Winchester

 

~*~

 

He can’t feel his feet.

It’s not so much down to the cold, but to the spreading numbness in each of his limbs. The smoke is still everywhere, the grime and ash smeared across his face and chest and arms in layers so thick he can barely recall what clean skin feels like. He can still hear explosions in the distance- the next town over, perhaps- but he’s learnt that it’s not his concern.

Dean knows he can’t stay here for long. The rest of his team are already packing up their equipment, getting prepared to move on to their next stop-point. He pushes his spine up against the stone at his back, the wall of a building, a church perhaps, that’s roof is lying in crumbled pieces under his boots. Heaps of rubble surround him no matter where he goes.

The black railing of a balcony lies motionless before him, and a child’s pram rests on its side amongst the dust.

He couldn’t let himself do this in front of his men, but he can’t control the violence of his unsteady breath anymore, can’t stop staring at everything around him. He thinks Benny may have heard the tremor of his voice, but if he had he hadn’t mentioned it.

Dean slides jerkily down the wall until he hits a sharp piece of rock, and settles. When the shaking increases, he focuses on the pain of it digging into his skin, the sting of the shredded flesh of his leg, the ache in his bones. His ears are ringing louder and louder and there’s nothing he can do to stop it, nothing that’ll drown it out- nothing that’ll get rid of the dying gasps of his friend, the desperate pleading for relief, prayers for home and for his wife and children. He thinks about the red-marked identity paper and letters that rest against Chuck’s heart now, and he breaks.

Dean cries.

He can’t breathe properly, only inhaling the coarse powder that floats in the air. He can no longer remember each death, each face he’s seen wide-eyed and colourless, because there have been too many. Memories come like flash-bombs in front of his eyes; limbs torn apart, mangled skin and organs, gaping wounds, deafening explosions and the fire that follows, dying screams silenced by single bullets, the smell of burning flesh and blood, endless blood – how much blood can one man hold in his body? How much blood can one man cup in his palms?

Dean looks down to his hands.

There’s blood on his fingers, still sticky, and his arms fall limp to his sides. The cry escapes his lips before he can stop it. He knocks his head back against the wall, once, twice, slamming it into the grey stone over and over again, until he almost feels the skin split and pulse with blood, until lightning and thunder decimate his brain.

He chokes on his inhale, and opens his eyes. There’s nothing- no blue in the sky, no sunlight. Just grey. Dean reaches into his breast pocket, barely able to get a grip on the paper that sits inside.

He brings his violently quivering fingers to his face, trying to dig out the grit that’s settled in the corner of his eye, but when he takes his hand away all he can see is the fresh smear of red spread by his tears.

He tries to grip his pencil, and after dropping it twice he manages it. He unfolds the paper, and hears another gunshot. He flinches, then presses the lead to the crease of stained-ivory resting against his thigh.

With uncontrollably trembling hands, Dean writes all he can, until the thin piece of wood he relies on so heavily falls like a bomb to his lap.

 

 

                                                                                                May 10th 1944

            Castiel,

I’m alive.

We lost Victor

Don’t stop looking down

                        Dean Winchester

 

 

He folds the papers, tucking them back into his shirt, and looks again to the skies.

Wiping his thumb over a piece of smooth glass, an angular stone, and a bronze amulet in his palm, Dean closes his eyes, and he prays.

 

~*~

 

                                                                                                May 16th 1944

            Castiel,

Lost red stone today. Only blue glass left. Tell Anna it reminds me of her eyes. I look at it every day.

I’m so sorry Cas. Please be safe

Looking up,

                        Dean Winchester

 

 

                                                                                                May 22nd 1944

We’ve exhausted ourselves. If I don’t die under gunfire, I’ll just keel over one day. I think I’d prefer to be shot.

Please write back to me. I need to know that everyone’s safe.

Tell Anna I love her.

Still looking up for you,

                        Dean Winchester

 

 

                                                                                                _27 th May 1944_

_Dean,_

_I hope you get this soon. I’m so sorry, for everything. I’ll pour out some drink for Victor._

_Anna wishes she could hold you. She loves you._

_Still looking down on you,_

_Castiel Novak_

 

 

                                                                                                June 5th 1944

            Castiel,

Haven’t got time anymore, Cas. We’ve lost, I think.

Going to France in an hour. ~~By the time you get this I’ll be~~

Say goodbye to the others for me

See you on the other side, I guess. Don’t forget me. Tell Anna I love her

Looking up one last time

                        Dean Winchester

P.S. always did say we’d go out with a bang, didn’t I?

 

 

                                                                                                _9 th June 1944_

_Dean,_

_Wherever you are. I don’t know if you’ll ever read this._

_I’ve realised I want peace now. Fighting our brothers and sisters isn’t worth all of this._

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■ _(CENSORED 11/07/1944)_

_I just want it to end._

_Anna knows. She knows that you love her. I can never forget you_

_Watching over you still,_

_Castiel Novak_

 

 

                                                                                                _15 th June 1944_

_Dean,_

_Don’t know what’s happened. Don’t know if you’re even still alive._

_Answer ASAP. I’m flying over France in the next week._

_Anna says:_

_Hold your blue glass and remember that I’m yours. Look to the stars and I’ll be there. I love you, to heaven and hell and back again, Dean Winchester._

_Looking down,_

_Castiel Novak_

_19 th June 1944_

_It’s been nearly two years since we said our goodbyes._

_This is another kind of goodbye._

_Anna loves you._

_Joining you soon,_

_Castiel Novak_

_P.S. keep watching those stars._

 

~*~

 

Castiel could see the entire coastline, the long beaches stretching out into the distance, all the people on them just tiny dots from his perspective. Nothing ever seemed so daunting when he was flying. Everyone looked the same from this high up; British, German, American, Italian, African, French… It didn’t matter.

Every time, it made him pause.

His superiors said he cared too much, had too much heart- the Germans were _evil_ , they reminded him, all they wanted was to _kill_ and _destroy_.

From the skies, though, they looked just like him. Castiel knew what it was to be forced into fighting; he’d seen it happen so many times. He knew that the Germans were just ordinary people, pushed into a war many of them didn’t believe in. He knew the British were lied to, and knew it was the same in Germany.

The sputtering drone of the engine beneath him whirred again, hiccupping and faulting. The radio was blowing up with commands, with questions, but he found he couldn’t answer any of them. It wasn’t hard to let go.

He looked down at the coast again, trying to imagine the beaches filled with people on holiday, with children laughing and playing, not guns and boats and soldiers. He thought of his family, and he thought of Dean.

“ _Novak, you’ve got two min-_ “

The radio began breaking up, and he shouted back a quick report of what was happening.

The waves looked bigger now.

The bullets that had ripped through the wings and undercarriage of Castiel’s Spitfire were doing their damage- in fact, he was surprised the fuel tank hadn’t blown up by now.

He’d seen Inias go down, had seen the explosion on the ground. There was still a fire down there.

In a desperate, last second manoeuvre, he went against his orders, pulling up to attempt to level the plane out. His wings wouldn’t stay straight anymore, and the end of one was rocking precariously, threatening to flip the entire aircraft and turn it into a spinning, hurtling mass of metal with him trapped inside.

 _“-ast-el!”_ Someone screamed through his crackling radio, barely audible anymore over the alarms and creaks and groans of his plane. _“---to move l----on your-----uel gauge, there’s---PULL **DOWN** \-----! CAS-!”_

“ _One last shot, right?_ ” Cas shouted, smiling, pulling up again as the ground came to meet him.

The impact was jarring, one wing snapping off the second he landed, metal and glass shattering everywhere, and then there was just ringing, and a sharp pain, and then nothing.

 

_P.S. always did say we’d go out with a bang, didn’t I?_

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for: Smoking, Light Description of Injury

~*~

 

_Known and unknown; human, divine;_

_Sweet human hand and lips and eye;_

_Dear heavenly friend that canst not die,_

_Mine, mine, for ever, ever mine._

CXXIX

 

 

Dean listened to the sound of planes droning overhead, and a faint smile twitched onto his face. He ran his fingers gently over the folded paper in his hands without even looking down, distracted by the bustle of people around him and soft snores from the man sleeping next to him.

He kept all the letters tucked into a box that he carried with him, every so often opening them and reading the words written in neat ink, growing shorter and messier as time passed. It was enough to even have them.

The one he held was the last letter he’d received from Cas.

It had been a week since Castiel had written it, the tremble in his fingers obvious from the blots of wasted ink. Dean had hardly put it down since he’d received it three days earlier. He thought about England again, and how maybe this time he’d be back there soon, maybe they wouldn’t send him back onto the battlefields.

Spirits were high- the landings they’d made on Normandy had been a huge success so far, and he knew people were talking about it all over the world.

He wished he could be happier about it.

There was the sound of lazy footsteps heading towards his bed, and the smell of tobacco drifting closer.

“Hey brother,” Benny greeted, quickly dragging up a chair and sitting himself down on it. “How y’feeling?”

Dean looked to his friend, watching him take a drag of his smoke.

“Been better,” Dean shrugged.

Benny nodded slowly, glancing down to the paper in Dean’s hands. “Right.”

Dean stopped fiddling with the letter, quickly putting it down next to him on the thin mattress, and went back to looking across his surroundings.

“Excuse me-” A new voice said hurriedly, repeating themselves over and over as they shoved past more and more people. “Sorry - excuse me-“

Benny looked over, eyebrows furrowed, and watched as Ash weaved his way through the rows of beds, accidentally stepping on a nurse’s toes as he went by, still apologising profusely while running away from her.

Dean twisted himself around as much as was comfortable, peering over his shoulder to see Ash approaching, his face flushed red from exertion and gripping something tightly in his hands.

“ _Dean_!” Ash called out, running over to his bedside.

“What’s going on?” Dean asked, waiting for Ash to catch his breath.

“He’s here,” Ash gasped out, and the man in the bed next to Dean’s began stirring awake.

“What?” Dean asked, bewildered, looking to Benny to see if he had any idea what was going on. “What’re you talking about?”

Ash swallowed thickly. “I’ve been checking the squadrons that’ve been coming in, seeing if there are names I recognise. And… his.”

Dean stared, waiting for an explanation.

“He’s here, Dean,” Ash breathed, shoving the crumpled paper into Dean’s hands.

Dean opened the note, reading the single line of pencilled writing scrawled by Ash’s hand.

_Castiel Novak – Zone H Tent 9_

Dean’s heart stopped beating for a long moment.

“The fuck are you waiting for?” Ash exclaimed, jerking his thumb to point over his shoulder.

Dean lurched into action, trying to quickly swing his legs over the bed and utterly failing. Benny and Ash went to either side of him, Benny grabbing his crutches and helping him onto them when they managed to get him stood up.

Dean began to walk, hissing and swaying with every step, but gaining confidence as he did.

“Come on, here,” Benny said, walking by Dean’s side. “It’ll be another two damn years before you see him, going at this pace.”

Without warning, Ash and Benny moved their arms under his knees and lifted him- despite the heavy cast on his right leg- and started half-limping, half-running out of the tent. Dean held fast to his crutches as he swung his arms over their shoulders, the three of them gaining stares from nurses and doctors and soldiers all around them, some of them whistling and laughing.

Dean only realised he was smiling when his cheeks began to ache.

They moved quickly past tent after tent, following signs to the different areas, tramping through the dusty earth until they were in Zone H.

“Fuckin’ put me down,” Dean hissed, already preparing himself to start walking again.

Benny and Ash lowered him carefully to the ground, letting him find his balance before taking their hands away. Dean started moving, ignoring the ache in his legs and the injuries his body was reminding him of, only focused on finding tent 9, finding _Cas_ -

“You’re _welcome_!” Ash shouted from somewhere behind him, and he shook his head fondly as he kept moving forward.

_Tent 6-_

_Tent 8-_

Dean was panting by the time he got to tent 9, staring at the entrance, swallowing the lump in his throat. Slowing down, he limped towards the flap in the fabric, gently pushing it to the side with the end of his crutch.

He stepped inside, breathing heavily, and scanned his eyes over the beds.

On his right, near the far corner, a head turned towards him.

And all Dean knew was blue eyes, and that he was, _finally_ , home.

 

~*~

 

Castiel woke up in stages, and every time he did, he forgot.

The first time, all he felt were endless jerking movements, and searing pain.

The second, only the rumble of a vehicle and the press of hands, and the sight of other men lying all around him, all of them painted red and brown.

The third time, he heard voices, and saw white and red and green, and only felt pain for a moment before it was gone again.

The fourth time, there was someone with him.

Quiet sounds drifted over him and then floated away as if they’d never been there. The pain was still present, but dimmed- he knew his body was injured, but the feeling of it was far away, promising to return sometime in the future.

He opened his eyes.

Things were blurry at first, but he knew he was in a tent, and he knew he was lying down, and he knew that he was _alive_.

Then he looked to the side, and he wasn’t quite so sure.

“G’briel?” Cas whispered weakly, his throat hurting more than he anticipated.

The man in question jumped, head darting to look at Castiel, eyes wide. He’d been shuffling a pack of cards, which he promptly dropped, the tattered set falling in a mess on the floor.

“Cas! Holy _shit_ -“ Gabriel exclaimed, leaning forward and grabbing Cas’s hand.

“What’re you doing here?” Cas asked, his throat drying up.

“Looking after my ass of a brother, obviously,” Gabriel said, bringing a scratched flask to Cas’s lips and pouring a few drops into his mouth. It was water, thankfully.

Cas swallowed, not daring to look down at himself yet.

“I crashed my plane.”

“Yeah,” Gabriel agreed, his voice unusually shaky. “You did. You fucking idiot.”

“How’d I get out of that one?” Cas asked quietly, already feeling tired.

“Some jackasses decided to see if you were alive,” Gabriel explained, squeezing Cas’s hand gently. “You were, by the way.”

Cas ignored the jibe.

“Jammed into your cockpit, too. They didn’t think they could get you out, but they did. One of them got some burns in the process- it’s how I know what happened. He came to check on you.”

Castiel nodded slowly, taking in the information.

“They dragged you all the way off the beach and into their trench, and tried to help you but…” Gabriel was quiet for a moment. “Man, you were pretty fucked up. They managed to get you loaded on a truck headed for the field hospital- i.e. here- and bam, the rest is history.”

Castiel turned his head slowly, staring at the man he hadn’t seen for over a year, wishing he had the courage and was able to sit up and hug him.

“Give me a run down,” Cas said, low.

Gabriel’s eyes darkened. “No.”

“ _Gabriel_ -“ Cas hissed, trying to snatch his hand back, but his brother held fast.

“All right, _fine_. You wanna know? No problem.” Gabriel took a deep breath. “The impact was the worst. You have three cracked ribs, a broken arm, a dislocated shoulder, minor burns on your legs, and a fucking bullet in your back. You got shot while you were flying, and you _still_ kept going. They thought there might have been _spinal_ damage, Castiel.

“The right side of the cockpit gave in on impact, and the metal impaled you, but thankfully it wasn’t much more than a flesh wound. Also, you fractured your fucking skull by smashing your head into the window. Oh, and don’t forget about all the bruising and gashes that made you _barely_ recognisable by the time you got here.”

Cas turned his head back to the ceiling and closed his eyes, unable to look at the fear and weariness on his brother’s face.

“How long?”

“It’s the twenty-fifth.” Gabriel said. “Six days.”

An uneasy silence settled over them.

“You’re damn _fuckin’_ lucky, kid.”

Castiel nodded, feeling the tears threaten to spill.

“Don’t…” Gabriel started and stopped, a foreign tremor in his voice. “Just don’t fucking do that again, you hear me?”

Cas nodded again, squeezing his brother’s hand.

“Jesus, Cassie, I thought you weren’t gonna…” Gabriel shook his head and took a deep breath.

Cas looked at him again, and suddenly noticed the bruising across Gabriel’s face and the sling his other arm was in.

“Gabe?” Cas asked, eyebrows worrying together.

“Hey, everyone gets a little roughed up every once in a while,” Gabriel replied, the easy-going smile that was back on his face failing to hide both the fear and relief in his eyes. “I gotta have a reason to hang around here- they wouldn’t let me stay unless there was _something_ wrong with me.”

“Gabriel, I can’t even _begin_ listing all the things that are wrong with you,” Castiel smiled, and the tension he must have been holding in his chest for days now suddenly released.

Gabriel grinned. “There’s my bro.”

A doctor and a nurse came in to check on him, carrying out various tests and asking him questions as efficiently as possible. A few of the other men in the beds near him watched it all happen, apparently having grown interested in the guy who’d been unconscious for six days whose brother barely left his side for a moment. Most of the time the doctor was checking Cas over Gabriel was flirting outrageously with the nurse, but she was unflappable in the face of his attempts.

When they were done, they helped Castiel to sit up a little; though not too much or it would pull on his side and ribs.

“Well Mr. Novak, looks to me like you’ll make a full recovery,” the doctor said, looking down at him with a quick grin. “Just get some rest.”

Gabriel’s smile was brighter than the sun.

They gave him some more painkillers, and his brother nudged his cheek as he fell asleep, thinking that he wouldn’t feel it.

 

The next day, Castiel was feeling worse.

The pain was sharper despite the drugs they had him on, and his brain was functioning more clearly. It meant that he knew there was still a war on, knew that there were people dying just a few miles away, knew that Dean was- for all he’d heard- dead.

He asked Gabriel about his pictures. They’d managed to recover them, though they were much more damaged than before. Looking at Dean’s face had made his hands tremble, and he hadn’t been able to hold the creased paper in his loose grip. Gabriel picked them up for him without a word, hovering his gaze over the picture of their family back at home. The older man smiled shakily when he handed them back, and mentioned something about limited mobility while Cas’s head was getting better.

The day dragged on, Castiel becoming horribly aware of how extensive his injuries were- there weren’t many parts of him that hadn’t been damaged in some way, and it made moving anything but his head next to impossible. He realised how lucky he was, though, to have come out as well as he had. To have come out of that crash at all.

He remembered the final few minutes, remembered being shot at, but there were hazy patches over his memories of things that had happened in the last couple of weeks. He didn’t know if those would ever come back to him. He almost found himself wishing he couldn’t remember the final letters Dean had sent him, and stifled the thought of not remembering Dean at all before it ran away from him.

Gabriel leant over him at one point, keeping what he was saying secret.

“You know they say that we’re winning,” he whispered. “That the War’s going to end soon.”

Castiel could only nod numbly in reply, trying to figure out if any of it had been worth it.

“Maybe we can go home.”

Castiel smiled then, imagining being back in England, seeing Balthazar and Anna and Meg and Charlie and Hannah and Alfie.

“I have to say, though,” Gabriel said, loud enough for others to hear this time. “It really was typical of you.”

“What was?” Cas asked.

“Ignoring everything your higher-ups told you to do,” Gabriel continued, eyes narrowing to slits, a smirk fixed on his lips. “But I don’t think you would’ve survived if you’d listened. Glad to see you haven’t changed, bro.”

He stood up abruptly, patting Cas’s thigh painfully hard, then turned to the door.

“I’m going to get some food. I’m fuckin’ starving.”

Cas huffed a laugh, and watched his brother leave.

He dozed for a while, listening to the people around him working and talking, and imagined being home like Gabriel had said.

He could tell when someone came inside, because the narrow strip of light that fell from the crack in the tent flap widened, and the shadow of a figure took its place.

Cas turned his head to look.

 

“Cas?” Dean said, breathing shakily.

Cas stared back at him, eyes wide, his breath catching in his chest.

Dean limped closer, going past several beds with occupants that didn’t even pass a glance at him. He could only focus on Cas, could only see the face of the man he loved, couldn’t do anything but move toward him. Dean’s heart raced, his entire world shrinking to just this tent, just that bed.

Then he was there.

Cas was staring up at him, tears gathering in his eyes. He clenched his fists in his sheets, holding onto them as if he’d fall off the earth if he let go.

“Cas?” Dean said again, his tongue thick and heavy in his mouth.

Cas flinched at the sound of Dean’s voice, and shut his eyes tight, turning his head to the ceiling.

“No, no,” Cas whispered, a tear marking a track down his temple. “I died, didn’t I?”

Dean stopped. “What?”

“I died and…” Cas swallowed, a pained smile raising his lips. “This is heaven.”

Dean moved closer. “You’re not dead, Cas.” He reached his hand down and touched Cas’s shoulder, holding it in his palm. “Not unless I am too.”

Cas jumped and his eyes flew open, angling his head to look into Dean’s eyes again.

“You can’t be real,” he whispered, more tears spilling out. “Dean?”

Dean squeezed Cas’s shoulder, leaning closer and ignoring his damned leg. “It’s me, Cas. I’m alive, I promise.”

A shuddering breath escaped Cas’s lungs, and he raised his good hand, touching Dean’s cheek with his fingertips.

Dean felt his own tear drip to the end of his nose.

“I’m here, I’m right here, Cas,” Dean hushed, trying to shield them from the view of the other men.

“I thought you were dead,” Cas whispered, wide eyes flicking frantically across Dean’s face as if trying to remember every inch of him, just in case this was a dream.

“So did I,” Dean laughed, trailing his fingers up Cas’s neck, smoothing the bruised line of his jaw. “And you too.”

Cas nodded, glancing down to Dean’s lips.

“God, I’ve missed kissing you,” Cas whispered, barely audible, and the ache that had made a home in Dean’s heart for two years vanished without a trace.

He wanted to dive down, breathe in everything that Cas was, touch his skin and hold him and tell him he loved him until he was red in the face. He wanted to press his lips to every inch of Cas’s body, every kiss becoming a promise, until Cas understood what it was to be loved- _truly_ loved. He wanted to show Cas that he was the stars, every one of them, and that Dean would stargaze for the rest of his life.

Instead, he pulled back, mourning the loss of Cas’s warm hand, and walked around to the empty chair on the other side of the bed, Cas’s eyes following him dazedly. He sat down slowly, pulling the seat right next to Cas, as close as he could be.

Cas laid his hand down next to his thigh, and Dean rested his elbow on the bed, intertwining their fingers where no one would be able to see.

“I lost my wings,” Cas said abruptly, still staring at Dean as if he wasn’t really there.

“You still know how to fly, though,” Dean comforted, rubbing his thumb over Cas’s rough skin.

“I crashed,” Cas said. “Thought I’d die with you.”

Dean pulled a watery smile. He looked over Cas properly, taking stock of what was there- and hoping nothing was missing. Cas was naked above the waist, though most of his torso was wrapped in tight bandages. There was a cast on his right arm, and more bandages around his shoulder, as well as a patch of gauze taped down messily to the side of his head. His face was a mess of red lines where glass had cut up his skin, but they seemed to be healing well.

“Does it hurt?” Dean asked quietly.

“Yes,” Cas answered quickly, sniffing and blinking away his tears. “Though they’ve got me on what you’d call ‘ _the_ _good_ _stuff’_.”

Dean laughed, wishing more than anything that he could reach up and wipe away the tracks of Cas’s tears.

“You’re hurt too.” Cas pointed with his chin at the cast on Dean’s leg.

“Yeah,” Dean nodded. “Didn’t come outta there completely unscathed. I’m okay, though.”

Cas’s lips tightened into a line, and he seemed to battle with saying something, before giving up. They sat in a long silence, just staring at each other, a thousand feelings that couldn’t be put into words running through their heads. Cas wanted to put his hands on Dean’s face, to feel Dean’s lips move beneath his, to remind Dean how much he loved him, and holding back was agony.

“Do you think we’ll make it?” Cas asked, holding Dean’s hand a little tighter.

“I don’t know, Cas,” Dean admitted, the weight of the words dragging down his soul. “But I’m gonna try my damn hardest to get us the hell out of here, and when we do, I’ll do anything- _anything_ \- to make it. Nothing’s changed, Cas.”

He leaned over, taking the few seconds he had to stare at Cas’s face so close to his own, feel his warm breath on his face, before pressing their cheeks together to whisper in Cas’s ear.

_“I love you.”_

Cas drew in a soft gasp, sighing it out against Dean’s temple before he moved back to his seat. Dean watched him, a warm expression on his face- Cas’s mouth had curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile, but his eyes were brimming with love.

A bubble of laughter rose up in Cas’s throat and he couldn’t stop it before it escaped, loud and disturbing the peace in the small tent around them.

“We’re in _France_ , Dean.”

Dean couldn’t stop his laugh either. “Not quite the vineyard we imagined, huh?”

Cas found himself staring at Dean again, mapping the freckles on the bridge of his nose and his cheeks, noting the new ones, gazing into green eyes he’d only been seeing in black and white for two years.

“It’ll do, I guess,” Cas said.

Dean traced the lines of Cas’s hand and wrist with his fingers, memorising their shape and their warmth.

“I should-“

“No!” Cas interrupted, holding Dean’s hand like he could never let go. “No, just… stay a little longer.”

Dean’s heart swelled, and he thought about a hazy village hall in England, of soft blue eyes and warm skin, and how he never wanted to let go ever again. He remembered golden fields, azure skies, rippling water, and felt the weight of the blue glass in his pocket. He thought about suns and stars, and burning kisses, and how he dreamt in love stories.

And Cas.

Dean knew that amongst all the millions of uncertainties in his life, Cas had always been inevitable.

“Yeah. I think I can do that.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> What a journey to get here! It’s been a tough challenge – this fic was completed through tears of sorrow and tears of joy, several close calls, a visit to the ER, and hours and hours of relentless work, but we made it! 
> 
> I’ve made a post detailing some things that never made it into the fic, and some ideas of what I imagined coming next, so [have a peek here](http://loveindirtytrenchcoats.tumblr.com/post/130623711401/extras-for-my-dcbb-under-the-cut-dont-read-if) if you'd like to see those. I also made a [pinterest board](https://www.pinterest.com/loveindirtytren/dcbb) to show my artist some inspo, so you can go and see that if you’d like, too. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading ^w^ Kudos and comments are appreciated, and if you leave a couple I will request that Misha grant you the greatest wealth of kale in the afterlife. Also, come say hello on [my tumblr!](http://loveindirtytrenchcoats.tumblr.com)


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